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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573659">Love Potion No. 9</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky'>BadBadBucky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mighty Boosh (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Death, Baby Boosh, Birds, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depiction of Child Abuse, Graphic Depiction of Drowning, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Summer Love, Witch AU, friends to idiots to lovers, magical non con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:54:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>111,839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One summer Howard visited his father and met Vince Noir. The witch child in the woods who all of the townsfolk seemed to hate and fear. They instantly fell in love, but were then brutally torn apart. Twenty years later Howard returns to the village to confront his past and perhaps reunite with the love of his life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Howard Moon/Vince Noir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This came about because I really wanted to write something with dual timelines and was feeling witchy because I started writing this the day after Halloween.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a boy. A very strange enchanted boy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Frank Sinatra</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I told her that I was a flop with chicks</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I've been this way since 1956</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She said "What you need is love potion number nine"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-The Searchers</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Chapter 1</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a round stone cottage on the edge of the woods. People would come from miles around for the wares sold within. But the locals of the nearby village would only come under cover of night. So it had always been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each townsperson had their own superstitions about what night was safest to visit him. Some said he drew his power from the moon and so the only safe night to visit was a new moon when the sky was dark. Others thought the full moon rendered him powerless to curse them should they anger him in some way. Others said that every night except a new moon and a full moon were safe. Some would only come on Sundays because they thought their lord would protect them in spite of their hypocrisy and others who avoided Sundays because they did not want to offend their lord by communing with the witch in the woods on his holy day. Though none of them, none of them, ever came during the witching hour. And they always made sure to leave well before the clock struck 3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brightly coloured smoke and steam poured out of an open skylight at all hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside, lizards scampered across the floor and the witch danced to his old record player as he tossed ingredients into a gigantic bubbling cauldron. He found he could barely focus. Such was his excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone special was coming. The birds had told him so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard Moon found himself comforting the woman who had called to tell him his father had died. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Thank you Mrs. Lewis...Birdy then, I appreciate the call. Yes. He always spoke so fondly of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s father, John, hadn’t spoken fondly or unfondly of anyone. At least not to Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye bye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy started to say something else but Howard decided he didn’t hear anything and hung up the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone rang. Damn. Well. He’d tried to get rid of her. Rudeness didn’t come easy to Howard Moon but he worked on it as best he could, it really did save quite a bit of time. Without looking at the screen he accepted the call. “I’m so sorry Birdy. We must have gotten disconnected.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Dean Learner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes. Hello Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean Learner was both named Dean Learner and also in fact the Dean of the boys school where Howard taught music. When he’d gotten the call from Birdy he was packing for holiday as the spring term was over and it was summer break. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got some bad news Moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. She got a hold of me,” Howard said, assuming Birdy must have left word at the school then managed to get through to his quarters. “I already know. Thank you for calling. That’s kind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dean covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand, but he wasn’t paying much attention so he only managed to cover half of it and Howard could hear everything Dean said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nelda! Did you already call Moon and tell him he was out of the job?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” a bored voice replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He says he already knows!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Howard squawked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dean had the phone away from his ear so he didn’t hear Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then who the devil did? This is supposed to be my job and I demand to know who is undercutting my authority.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wadn’t me,” the bored voice said. Nelda was not one to get ruffled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same could not be said for Dean. Nor Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sacked. Oh he should have known. They’d told him not to worry that his contract hadn’t been renewed yet. Just some issues with funding for the arts that would certainly be worked out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sat down on the edge of his small bed in his small room in the staff housing at the school. The mattress creaked under him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well this is just lovely,” Learner grumbled, “been getting myself in the mindset all day. Ready to comfort him if he cried and he already knows. I even had phrases prepared.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His life was turning into a comedy of errors. Howard briefly wondered if he was going insane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Dean returned the phone to his ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still there Moon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Howard replied numbly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. As you know…” Learner took a pause as if Howard should apologize for ruining a particularly good surprise, “the budget for the arts has been cut. And as the most recent addition to the staff…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last in, first out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to say you’re taking this rather well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dad died.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got the call. Right before you called. Birdy. She was crying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another long pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re having a bit of a shocker. I’ll tell you what. You can hold onto your quarters for the summer. Take some time to find other accommodations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you...Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please. Call me Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. “Take care Moon.” He hung up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered if it made him a bad person that he was more upset about his job than about his father. He’d loved his job. He loved introducing young minds to the powers of Coltrane and Davis. He loved the look in a student’s eyes when they finally coaxed music from an instrument, instead of just noise. He liked the coziness of the school and he’d gotten on fairly well with the rest of the staff, which was an honest rarity for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whereas he and his father hadn’t spoken in 12 years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least his bags were already packed. He’d have to call and cancel the cottage in Blackpool. He was probably going to lose his deposit. He felt this thought confirmed that he was indeed the worst person in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d told Birdy that he would leave the next day, but he figured there was no point in lingering. So he threw his bags into the back of his van, the kids sniggered a lot about Mr. Moon’s van though generally he got on well with his students, and drove the few hours to the village where his father had lived. The van had been having problems so he was grateful it made it to the village without incident. His head and his heart just could not take even one more thing going wrong at the moment. Luckily the village was small enough that he could still get around if he left the van parked to avoid pushing his luck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat in silence the entire drive. Howard Moon was a man who required music to function. He’d made mixtapes, then cd’s, then playlists for virtually any occasion or situation. Grading papers music. Can’t get out of bed music. Travelling music. But he didn’t put on his travelling music. Because he wasn’t travelling. Not really. He was returning. God help him he was returning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The days were getting ever longer but Howard only barely managed to reach the village before dark. He felt around for the spare key over the door jamb, found it, and slotted it into the lock. He immediately barked his shin something awful on an end table he’d forgotten was there. He’d only lived in the house for one summer 20 years previous. He finally found the light switch and flicked it on. Dousing everything in dim sullen light. Robbing everything of its color. He hated this fucking house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy had provided him with rather more information than he would have liked. So he knew exactly where on the floor his father’s body had been found. He tried very hard not to look at the spot but then he would chastise himself because avoiding it was just as bad as staring, so he’d sternly order himself to look at it as if it were any other part of the floor. Then he’d realize he’d been staring and the cycle would begin anew every time he walked past it on his way to unload his bags.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally he had himself settled. He’d checked his old bedroom and saw his bed was gone. And most of the posters he’d left up had been taken down except for a tiny magazine cutout of Miles Davis. He couldn’t bring himself to set foot in his father’s bedroom at all. So he decided to kip on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was that spot on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He climbed back off the couch after only sitting down for about three seconds. He walked over and had a poke around his father’s fridge. The old man could always be counted on to have beer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paydirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He returned to the couch with his prize and sank back down with an audible groan. He popped the cap off the bottle of Carlsberg, took one sip, and promptly fell asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hated this place. He felt too big, too unwieldy for its confines. The first day in his father’s house and he’d already knocked over a beagle figurine that was apparently priceless  and of great sentimental value based on the way his father cuffed him on the back of the head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t help it. His eyes welled with tears and he saw his father roll his eyes at that, which made them well even more. He was too old to be getting this upset but he couldn’t help it. He might be the size of a man, having hit a major growth spurt the previous year, but he was still a kid. Howard marched into his room, which was crowded with boxes of his father’s sportsman stuff. Fishing gear, camping gear, hunting gear, footballs, it was basically an amalgamation of everything Howard wasn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard slammed the door behind him. Then flinched when his dad yelled “Don’t slam that fuckin’ door!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard sat down on the floor with his back braced against the bed. He kicked at a box full of tent stakes. He’d begged his mother not to send him here.  Begged her. But his father threatened to take her to court again. And she really couldn’t afford another protracted custody dispute. Neither could his father actually, but that didn’t stop him from threatening it and Howard knew his father was just kamikazee enough to do it and take them all down. So he’d packed his things and kissed Leeds goodbye. Goodbye wedding gigs he and his band had booked. Goodbye late night curries. Goodbye record store. See you in the fall.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He put on Miles Davis </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kind of Blue </span>
  <em>
    <span>to calm himself back down. Though it had the opposite of the intended effect when his father yelled at him to “turn down the noise.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t come out of his room until dinner time. His father set a plate in front of him. Howard started eating without looking up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father pulled up his chair with a slow scrape. He lowered himself into it, and watched Howard eat, not eating himself. Just twisting his bottle of Carlsberg, making the glass hum against the table.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You plannin’ on sulkin’ the entire time ye’re here?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard shook his head. His dark curls falling in his eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Seems like you’re planning on sulkin’.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No?” Howard’s father, John, leaned forward, getting in Howard’s field of vision.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A bit louder this time. “No.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No he says,” his father said, speaking to an invisible crowd. “The boy says no.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard never knew how to respond when his father got this way. He had no idea what he could say that was safe. That would satisfy him. But he also knew that remaining silent wasn’t an option. Howard tried to be as compliant and noncommittal as he could and let his father lead then both to safer ground. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, sir,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No sir, the boy says, finally some respect,” his father said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry dad.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John slowly nodded. Then he broke into a wide grin, leaned forward and mussed Howard’s hair. An affectionate gesture that still hurt a little.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m glad you’re here Teej.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard propped the corners of his mouth open into a rather ghastly smile and nodded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hated being called Teej. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For the next two weeks he did his best to not appear like he was “sulking.” His father didn’t like him hanging about the house all day. Reading. Playing his guitar. Listening to jazz albums. Which is what Howard would like to be doing, but his father insisted he “go out and do something”. So Howard walked around town with his headphones settled firmly over his ears. Listening to Charlie Parker and looking for hidden places he could smoke. His dearest vice. The only thing that drove him to rebellion. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hadn’t really made any friends but that didn’t stop him from being inundated with conversation. In any good and just society people would see headphones and realize that person was not interested in engaging in conversation. What he had thought was a universal signal for “don’t talk to me” had seemingly not reached the village of Beron yet. And so he was constantly forced to make the absolute worst kind of talk, small talk. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beron was a very small place. Any new face was instantly honed in on. To make matters worse, Beron was Howard’s father’s hometown. So anytime someone called out “Is that John Moon’s boy?” he had to paste a smile on and make excruciating smalltalk for Brian Christ knew how long. He couldn’t be rude. For one, it just wasn’t in his nature. More importantly it would certainly get back to his father if he was anything less than perfectly polite.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was how he got stuck discussing petunia’s for 7 minutes with Mrs. Lake. 9 minutes 53 seconds on the situation in Burma even though Burma no longer existed and was now Myanmar with Mr. Growfield. And an excruciating 25 minutes on calcium with Birdy Lewis, the daft widow, late one afternoon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While he was absently agreeing with Birdy that calcium supplements were indeed worth the investment he saw a boy about his age, maybe a bit younger, with long peroxide blond hair giggle at his predicament as he walked by.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t help but follow the boy with his eyes. He had gigantic eyes, high cheekbones, and a flat nose. He wore a large floppy black hat, high heeled black boots and a ratty knitted black shawl with fringe so long it nearly dragged on the ground. Howard figured he needed the protection since his skin was so pale.  Howard had never seen anyone like him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His brain tossed up words like beautiful and hypnotic that Howard tried his best to ignore. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Birdy caught him watching the boy walk by. She nodded in understanding. Hitching up her leopard print elastic jeans. “The witch child.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pardon me?” Howard said. He finally turned back to Birdy after watching the boy disappear around the corner. His ears burning a bit, hoping he wasn’t blushing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The one you’re starin’ at. The witch child.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard shook his head. “I’m sorry the what?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Birdy rolled her eyes. “That boy lives with the witch in the woods. A foundling they say.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard privately wondered who on earth still used the word foundling and didn’t the grownups in this town have anything better to do than gossip about a teenager but he of course did not say any of this to Birdy. Instead he said, “What’s his name?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince Noir.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hm. Vince Noir.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard almost made his escape then. A godsend. A natural break in the conversation. But before he could say his goodbyes Birdy started talking again and he was once again trapped. He really wished he was ruder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was technically supposed to be babysitting a potion for Bryan while he was away, but other things had to take priority.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude pushed Vince up against a tree and kissed him. The rough bark scraped at his skin where his shirt rode up in the back. He knotted his fingers into Jean Claude’s shirt and slid his tongue into his mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude gave a pained huff with his nose pressed to Vince’s cheek, pressing kisses down his jaw. Vince cupped Jean Claude’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply before biting Jean Claude’s lip. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ow! Goddammit.” Jean Claude complained. He poked his tongue at his lip. “You made me bleed. How’m I gonna explain this to Lucy?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Lucy was Jean Claude’s girlfriend. See the boys and girls of Beron were glad to come and try it on with the beguiling witch child. Snogging. Bit more. Bit less. But not a one of them would deign to so much as wave at him on the street. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t mind. Honest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell ‘er it was me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince knew he wouldn’t. Lucy hated him more than anyone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude smirked at him. “You’re such a slag.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude stuck his hand under Vince’s shirt then let it drop down to his waistband, playing with the material. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you hear there was a new kid in town?” Jean asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude and Corky and Missy and the rest. They weren’t his friends. In fact they made him feel cheap and gross. Sure they’d all come to make out or for a quick handy in the woods but he’d never once been asked to go to the movies or the cafe or the record shop. They’d never invited him round theirs for dinner. And anytime he tried to talk to one of them at school or on the street he would be met with a blank stare or a hard shove. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was certain this was the first time Jean Claude had said anything to him besides “let’s hook up.” Maybe the first time any of the town kids had tried to engage him in conversation period. So he supposed he should take it as a win. The dawn of a new age in which his last couple years in school weren’t as lonely as all the rest. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude told him the new kid had been in Beron a few weeks. His name was Howard Moon. He was a musician. And he kept to himself.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was having trouble focusing on the new kid. Not when the backs of Jean Claude’s fingers kept bumping across his hipbones in that maddening way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally Vince could take no more about the new kid. As it was mainly Jean Claude just repeating the same bits of information in new and exciting configurations. So Vince said, “Oh my God Claude, just shut up and kiss me,” then lunged forward and captured Claude’s lip between his teeth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The eggtimer in Vince’s pocket went off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He briefly considered just ignoring the timer and continuing to snog Jean Claude. Maybe have another conversation. Just let the potion curdle into uselessness. But they had to sacrifice a pigeon for the spell, piercing its heart with a needle, and he didn’t want it to be in vain. The potion had to be brewed in the week of the full moon and if it wasn’t tended to day and night it would be ruined. Bryan would have his head if he ruined another batch. It was their best seller. A love spell.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There were as many different kinds of love spells as there were kinds of love. There was The Nudge. This one just pushed two people together. If it clicked it clicked. If it didn’t then the draw they felt to each other faded away. There was Stray, to make wandering husbands return to the nest, the one he was currently supposed to be watching. There was Fling which tasted of raspberries and just amounted to a magical roofie. And there was Love Potion No. 9. The strongest love potion known to man. It could overcome hatred. It could rewrite personalities. It could ruin lives. Only sketchy witches sold that one. And Bryan was many things but he wasn’t sketchy. Anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pushed Jean Claude back a bit. “I gotta go.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could come inside,” Jean Claude said, he hooked his finger through Vince’s belt loop. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That was against the rules. Too many powerful magic objects. Too much temptation for a townie teenager. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh no, you couldn’t. You had your shot big boy. Laters.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With that Vince walked back into the house. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably tight his trousers had gotten.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude yelled after him, “fucking tease!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Things weren’t going to be so different after all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next day he walked to the store, ostensibly for ingredients for Bryan but in actuality for sweets for himself, and he saw a very tall boy with trousers that were both too highwater and not highwater enough to be cool, shaggy curly hair, and an eye watering orange hawaiian shirt talking with that daft bird Birdy who was 60 but dressed like a 40 year old cougar. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince couldn’t help but giggle. The poor guy looked so bereft. Eyes darting, searching for escape. He understood the sentiment. Birdy always had some comment about his weight or the way he dressed, couched in “constructive criticism”. Despite all that, Vince could almost like her, sometimes, occasionally. Despite all her snidey remarks. All of her comments felt more like a mean aunt criticizing a rather plain niece than the way the rest of the town treated him, which was basically with unmitigated disgust. And she never tried to butch him up. So there was that. And in the end he loved to push her buttons just as much as she loved to push his. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could easily see the resemblance between Howard and John Moon, who Vince did his best to avoid. John Moon and the rest of his ilk had made quite clear how they felt about people like Vince. People who weren’t quite girls and weren’t quite boys but were certainly all witch.  Howard was going to be big, like his dad, but he had much kinder eyes. And the way he held himself was different too. Like he was terribly sorry for all the space he was taking up with his large frame.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince picked up Bryan’s items and some Ultra-Violets for himself. When he walked back the way he’d come, the poor guy was still talking to Birdy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince decided to take pity on the guy and deliver him from evil. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Birdy you old sonofabitch. How are ya?” Vince asked as he slung his arm around Birdy’s shoulders. Birdy giggled uncomfortably and quite unsubtly shrugged his arm off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m fine...Vince. This is Howard Moon.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard Moon. As I live and breathe. I have heard so much about you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was talking to him. Had heard about him. Howard didn’t know why but this sent a little thrill up his spine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Birdy was looking at Vince with great distaste but Vince didn’t seem to care, if anything he seemed to enjoy the reaction he was eliciting from her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now Birdy,” Vince said, “you can’t be hogging Howard here all afternoon. You’ve got ta let some of the rest of us have a taste.” Vince glanced at Howard and winked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh. Well-” Birdy began.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks Bird, you’re a doll,” Vince said. He then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and grabbed Howard’s hand, dragging him away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Birdy swiped at her face while doing her best to look like that’s not what she was doing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard grinned but then remembered Birdy went to the same church as his father so he threw a “sorry” over his shoulder and continued to follow Vince Noir. The witch child. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once they got around the corner Vince let go of Howard’s hand. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Looked like you needed a hand.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. Thank you. I never thought she’d stop talking”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince chuckled. “Too polite for your own good. Don’t ya ever just ache to tell some of these olds to sod off? I thought you northern types all spoke your mind.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard for the first time noted Vince’s accent. Pure south London.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So you didn’t grow up here then?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well. I been here since I was about 5 or so.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard felt a little strange as if they should still introduce themselves even though they both knew who the other was. It just didn’t feel right to keep making conversation until the niceties were out of the way, or he at least acknowledged he knew who Vince was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So your name is Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince Noir at your service.” Vince tipped his hat cheekily. Then he ripped open a bag of sweets and popped a few into his mouth. Transferring them to his cheek with his tongue.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He gestured at the bag of sweets. “Come on. Get involved.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard took one of the sweets and stuck it in his mouth. He bit down on it and sticky sweetness flooded his mouth. And when Vince popped another one of the sweets into his mouth Howard couldn’t stop thinking about how Vince’s mouth probably tasted the exact same.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was staring at Vince’s mouth. He was being creepy he could tell, but Vince didn’t seem to mind, he ducked down and caught Howard’s eyes with his own. He smiled then stuck his tongue out at Howard. It was stained purple from the sweets and that shouldn’t have been erotic but it was and oh God he was being so so so creepy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was adorable. He was so awkward, the way he was staring at Vince. Vince couldn’t help but preen under his gaze. He was so used to people looking at him with distrust or anger. Even from Bryan the best he could evoke was a sort of exasperated fondness. He liked the way Howard was smiling at him. The way it made his small dark eyes squinch up to almost nothing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe things could be different. He’d gotten to Howard before the town could poison Howard’s mind against him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before he could actually think about why he was offering, Vince said, “do you want to come with me down by the lake?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard worried that his “yes” had been a bit too swift. But Vince just smiled at him and led him down the street and out of town. Down a winding tree lined lane with no blacktop.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When they reached a stone cottage, Vince made Howard stay out front. Howard contented himself with staring at his surroundings, which were plenty interesting. There was a sign that said “Spells and Potions, by appointment only”, and under that a phone number. Howard had thought perhaps it had just been fear-mongering when Birdy had told him Vince lived with a witch, but it seemed it was true.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a pigeon coop to the side of the house and a stack of rodent hutches against the western wall. Little lizards skittered on the ground. Howard didn’t think he’d ever seen so many lizards in his life. Purple smoke billowed out of the chimney of the little cottage.  And a toad the size of a football sat by the door.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince exited the cottage with a large grin on his face but when he saw the toad he let out a shriek and went over in the brambles that surrounded the house.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard took a step forward to help him up but Vince scrambled to his feet before he could reach him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus Jeremy! Don’t do that!” There was a slight tremble to Vince’s voice.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The toad croaked at him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told ya ye’re not welcome round here anymore.” Vince’s voice gained strength. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Another croak.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’ gimme that. You know exactly what you did. Now sod off!” Vince pointed back toward the woods.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hadn’t thought a toad capable of looking baleful but this one managed it rather well as he hopped away from the cottage. Letting out one more croak as he took another great sloshing leap.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Disagreement?” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, he’s a right plonker,” Vince said, whipping his hair out of his eyes and tugging the fringe of his shawl free of the bramble branches.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had been joking. He wondered what sort of crazy person got into an argument with a toad. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He knows I’m scared a’ him and he likes to hide himself in places where I’ll accidentally find him. I fell off a roof once cos a’ him, that was the last straw and Bryan said I had to start standing up for myself.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince finally had himself back in order and his large smile was back in place.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And Bryan is...your dad?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“In a manner a speakin’. E’s my foster dad. Raised me from a pup pretty much.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before Howard could consider how rude it was, he found himself asking “What happened to your parents?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> Vince’s smile wilted a bit at the edges. “Didn’t want me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince bent over and grabbed the bag of sweets he’d dropped on the ground when Jeremy scared him. He stuck a few in his mouth and that seemed to be all it took to get him back to smiling for real.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ready?” Vince asked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t sure what to do with Vince’s ability to gracefully glide past all manner of unpleasantness. He was awfully curious as to what had happened with Vince’s parents. He said he’d lived here since he was 5. Did that mean Vince had been old enough to remember them? To know first hand that they hadn’t wanted him? Howard couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince led Howard on a little path through the woods to a murky lake.  It smelled dank and tremendous. A gigantic log hung out over the water and Vince climbed it with surprising grace considering the height of the boots he was wearing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once Vince was settled on the log with his feet dangling over the water he gestured for Howard to come sit beside him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard doubted the structural integrity of the log, sure it looked stable, like it had been there a thousand years, but was it really stable? He had to wonder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on Howard!” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think I’m alright here,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aw come on. It’s really safe. I promise.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s real concern, and not one he particularly wanted to share with Vince, was that he was not a strong swimmer and while he wasn’t scared of the water anymore, his father had seen to that when he was 10, he still wasn’t a huge fan of it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To Howard’s horror Vince climbed to his feet and started jumping up and down on the log.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“See? It’s super stable!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, only to get Vince to stop jumping before it gave Howard a panic attack, he climbed out onto the log. Clinging to it for dear life. Finally he reached the end and sat up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat down next to him, his face bright and a bit flushed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Genius idn’t it?” Vince pointed out over the lake and Howard had to admit it was genius. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The lake was surrounded by an old growth forest, in the distance he could make out the looming shadows of the mountains. The sun reflected off the water and lit Vince’s face from underneath with warm wavering light. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard kept feeling like he should be getting shy. He was always shy around new people, but Vince made it impossible. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So you’re stayin’ wiv your dad?” Vince asked. “That’s the word on the street.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The word on the street? Who’re you? T-Bone Wilson?” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s mouth hung open a bit at Howard’s quick response. In all honesty Howard himself was a bit surprised. He believed this was what the kids called banter and he had never engaged in it before. Everything was just so easy with Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s face shifted into a wicked grin. “Thas not the only word on the street though.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh no?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head. “My sources also say that you’re a musician.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your sources are correct.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What kinda music do you play? No. Wait. Let me guess.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince stared at Howard appraisingly. Howard tried not to smile as Vince stroked his chin in apparent deep thought. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hmmm. Metal?” He squinted one eye and raised his eyebrow. “No. New wave?” Vince allowed his big blue eyes to drift over Howard’s apparel. “Not dressed like that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head and spoke in a patronizingly gentle tone, “Oh Howard. We don’t have time to get into that right now.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like you’ve room to talk Stevie Nicks.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stevie is a fashion icon! I’m a witch, what was I gonna dress like Margaret Hamilton?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince eyed Howard’s long calloused fingers. Perfect for a musician.  They were still gripping the log with white knuckled intensity despite how wide the log was and how slim the chances of falling off. Vince pegged him as a guitar player. But there was something about those lips as well. Trumpet?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he was struck with a horrifying thought and instantly knew it to be true. He wrinkled his nose. “You play jazz don’t you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard gaped at him. “How could you possibly-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Noooooo,”  Vince lamented, throwing his head back so far he almost went into the drink.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And what’s wrong with jazz sir?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Um basically everythin’.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You fear jazz.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shut up, no I don’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Its lack of rules. Its wily structure. The improvisation. The rawness.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard knew he should stop. He was going to drive Vince away with his rampant dorkiness, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like he knew that no matter what he did or said Vince would be ready to fling it straight back at him with a wink and a smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he started scatting. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince covered his ears, groaning. “Ugh. No. Stooooop!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled and scatted even faster. Twisting his tongue around nonsense syllables, finding the groove, chasing the train. His eyes closed. So what happened next came as a complete surprise.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince lunged forward and kissed him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s eyes shot open. His brown eyes were met with Vince’s blue veined eyelids. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had a few wispy hairs on his upper lip he was clearly trying to coax into a mustache and they tickled Vince’s lips. He tasted like sweets but when Vince poked his tongue further in Howard’s mouth he found he tasted of tea. And if he wasn’t mistaken Howard Moon smoked. For some reason the thought of Howard smoking a cigarette out behind his father’s house struck him as absolutely delicious and he couldn’t help giggling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was laughing into his mouth. When he’d been little, any time he got a fizzy drink he would hold up the glass and let the bubbles tickle his lips and nose. It was the closest comparison he could think of for the feeling of kissing a laughing Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Forgetting his fear, Howard released his death grip on the log and and cupped Vince’s face, drawing him into the kiss ever more. His forehead knocked the brim of Vince’s hat and it fell off the back of Vince’s head and drifted lazily down to the water below, but neither of them noticed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince roughed his teeth over Howard’s lip and Howard audibly gasped. And there was that bubbling laugh fizzing into Howard’s mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pulled back. Then placed one last peck at the corner of Howard’s mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard goggled at Vince. “What was-why would-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shrugged and gave Howard a cheeky smile. “You was scattin’. Had ta get you to stop somehow. Hold my legs.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The last part seemed a complete non sequitur to Howard, but before he had a chance to ask what Vince meant, Vince swung off the log backwards, seemingly totally confident that Howard would catch him before he slid off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard scooted forward and grabbed a firm hold on Vince’s calves as Vince hung off the log like a monkey on a branch to retrieve his hat from where it floated on the water. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had to do his best to process what had just happened whilst simultaneously keeping Vince from falling into the water. It was rather a lot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d barely known Vince an hour. And they’d already kissed. Howard knew he must have the most dopey look on his face but everytime he tried to fix his features into another configuration they just shifted back into a bemused smile. Vince had kissed him. This beautiful funny strange boy had decided he wanted Howard. And he’d acted. That was the part Howard was having trouble wrapping his head around. Someone who wanted something. And then acted on it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince hoped he hadn’t overstepped. It occurred to him that Howard might not even like boys or sort of boys or whatever Vince was. But the way Howard had been looking at him since they met. The way Vince couldn’t stop smiling. The way everything was so easy. And the way Howard had just looked so ridiculously cute with his eyes squinched closed as he scatted away. How exactly was Vince supposed to resist that?  So, he of the poor impulse control had kissed he of the awkward demeanor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s hair fell away from his face as he hung upside down, trying to reach his hat. He could feel Howard stroking his calf through the denim of his skinny jeans. Which was not strictly part of the leg holder job description. So Vince figured the kiss was probably alright.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But maybe he’d let Howard make the next move. Just in case.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay,” Vince said, his voice sounding stuffy from hanging upside down, “haul me up Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With a lot of scrabbling and cursing Howard finally managed to get Vince upright again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook off his hat a few times then jammed it onto Howard’s head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Excuse me.” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just wear it ‘til it dries out.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And why can’t you wear it?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cuz it takes forever to style my hair and if it gets wet, I’ll have ta start over.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not worried about hat hair though.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s hands flew to his hair, fluffing it up, teasing it out. He caught Howard’s smirk and slowly lowered his arms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’ got hat hair do I?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. It looks fine. Long as you’re alright with it being on backwards.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince giggled and socked Howard in the shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They sat on the log shy as school children until Vince started giggling and Howard demanded to know what he was laughing about.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They stayed in that spot for hours. Enjoying what they’d found.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the past, Howard and Vince grow closer, in the present their first meeting after 20 years does not get off to a great start.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The birds had taken it upon themselves to give Vince up to the minute updates as Howard arrived in town and proceeded to his father’s house, which was actually less helpful than the birds might have thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had already fucked up an extremely basic potion for changing your eye color and he’d almost burnt his eyebrows off experimenting with a new kind of magic fire. And that decided it. He could abide grievous bodily harm but would not undertake unreasonable risk to his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed a distraction. A real one. Preferably a handsy one. As soon as fucking possible. The last time he’d gotten like this and had nothing to occupy him, he’d done some drunken scrying to find Howard’s phone number and left some sort of slurring incoherent completely mortifying message on his machine that was never responded to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He threw on a skintight black jumpsuit, his tallest boots, and his most fuck you lipstick. He was going out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went to the pub. It warmed his heart that after all these years he still elicited stares. Sometimes he worried the townsfolk would get bored of him. Move onto hating some other weirdo, but no, for the 31st year running he had snagged Beron Village’s highly coveted most gawked at award. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had given up being actually friendly with the locals a long time ago. The first time some fireplug of a kid beaned him with a rock, in full view of at least half a dozen adults with not one of them saying a thing, had taken care of that. He’d been twelve. Life was a lot more endurable now that he’d given up on civility. He scared them. Made them uncomfortable. Well, that was their problem. He wouldn’t change who he was for anyone.  And he wouldn’t hide either. They could call him witch child all they wanted behind his back. But he’d make them all call him Vince to his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sounded so bitter. He hated it when he got like this and it was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of it. When he was younger he was the sunshine kid. Now he felt more like the bloody prince of darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bryan would have  laughed at him and told him he was incapable of darkness. That he was candy floss all the way down, but Vince was finding that more and more difficult to believe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat down in front of the bar and ordered a flirtini. The bartender sat the drink in front of him and just grunted when Vince said thanks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince chewed on the straw in his drink, smudging it with lipstick, eyeing the scene, seeing who was around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude sat in the corner nursing a beer and a mean look. Lucy must be home with the kids. She was probably furious that Jean Claude had elected to go out and get pissed rather than help her with the nippers. Vince didn’t blame her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Claude might have messed around a bit when he and Lucy were first married. Vince figured that was Claude and Lucy’s business. But after he found out Lucy was pregnant he’d stopped letting Claude follow him into the toilets or turn up at the cottage at 2 in the morning. Even the town slag had to draw the line somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Things were a bit delicate at the moment. The birds had told him to be careful. That the bastards were planning something and he just better be ready. But he really really needed a distraction. He was spending far too much time in his head and it was getting lonely. For someone who so hated to be alone he found himself alone quite often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did he have to work with? Joey Moose, Hamilton Cork, and Missy Gideon played darts. One of them could work. He’d just have to separate one from the pack. Missy’s eyes kept sliding over to Vince between turns. Vince smiled then plucked one of the cherries from his drink and popped it into his mouth. She bit her lip. He walked into the ladies after first making sure it was empty, then waited. She came in not long after.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kissed him. He barely noticed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead he thought of Howard. What if he was different? What if he thought Vince was different?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d known that Howard’s father had died, nothing was a secret in a small town, but he honestly hadn’t expected Howard to return. He remembered how bad their relationship was. How scary Howard’s father could be, but he knew Howard didn’t have any siblings, and John had never remarried after Howard’s mother left him when Howard was 13 so he supposed Howard was the only one left. And Howard always did the right thing. Well, not always the right thing. But the proper thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shouldn’t even want to see Howard, after what he’d done, but he couldn’t help it. It had been 20 years and he still missed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what if Howard didn’t want to see him? The thought honestly hadn’t occurred to Vince until that very moment and it floored him.  What if he was married? This thought nearly sent Vince into a panic attack. The distraction was not working.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed Missy by the shoulders and held her away with locked elbows. She reached up to grab his hair. He caught her hand, put it back down at her side and left the bathroom. He paid his tab and left the pub. It had been a bad idea to come to town. A stupid stupid bad idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He returned home and sat down heavily on his couch. The lizards skittered up his legs and torso, settling on his shoulders, and a rabbit split perfectly down the middle between pure white and inky black, Mr. Rabbit, jumped in his lap. Vince stroked his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nuffin’. I’m just a shambles. As per usual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He always felt like he could be honest with animals in a way he couldn’t be with humans. It was just easier. No questions to answer. No prying eyes. The animals didn’t judge him. Didn’t want anything from him. They were his only real friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince toed off his boots then stood up slowly, giving all of the lizards time to climb off of him. Then he went into his bedroom and sat down at his vanity. He swiped makeup remover across his eyes and washed his face. Then he set to work applying all his various lotions and potions. A moisturizer that smelled like the ocean. A snail mask with snail slime given to him by some grateful snails he’d rescued from an arsehole kid with a salt shaker. A brightening powder made from trapping moonlight in an enchanted jar with night-blooming jasmine blossoms. When he was very small he’d thought of it as an unbeautifying routine and he’d hated it. Being without makeup made him feel like he was removing his real face and revealing a stranger underneath. When he was 14 he’d flat out refused to remove his makeup unless he was putting more on. Bryan told him he couldn’t sleep in his makeup. It was going to wreak havoc on his skin. And of course he was right, but that made Vince even more loath to take the makeup off. He’d gotten over it eventually. But he still didn’t love the process. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found himself poking and prodding at his face more than usual. Eyeing every wrinkle and imperfection. A year ago he’d found a gray hair. He’d cried and eaten three quarters of a supermarket birthday cake that day. There was no denying it. He was getting old. He wondered what Howard would think. If they saw each other again. If they “just happened” to run into each other. That he’d turned into some leathery old man witch probably. Emphasis on the man. In his teens and twenties he’d been able to pull off the androgynous look with ease. The confuser. But now when he took his makeup off he just looked like such a man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d just finished unbeautifying and was changing out of his jumpsuit into his kimono when he heard a knock at the door. His heart did a jimmi flip. What if it was-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuffled quickly across the living room and whipped open the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy Lewis. She’d been coming to see the witch of the woods since Vince was a child. Banging at the door at all hours of the night. Always asking Bryan for spells and remedies for a wide range of afflictions both real and imagined. Now that Bryan was gone she came to Vince. She and the other locals only ever came at night, midnight to 3 in the morning were prime business hours so Vince’s sleep schedule had been completely bollocksed since he was a kid. Once he’d left school, he’d given up all pretense of maintaining a normal human schedule. Catching sleep wherever and whenever he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t wait for him to step back to let her in. She just barged in, stepping on his toes as she walked, already halfway through a monologue on her latest fiasco. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince closed the door behind her and turned around. “Hi Birdy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you getting sick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I just took off my makeup.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. That was a mistake wasn't it darling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince narrowed his eyes, “Can I help you in any way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I made a new special friend. At water aerobics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure. Nothing more romantic than a bunch of old people in a swimming pool. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations. What you need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. He’s older than I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Older than you? Are you sure he’s still alive?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be smart dear. We both know you’re not suited for it. The doctors told him he needed to stop being quite so...athletic in bed otherwise he might have another heart attack, but well, you can do things doctors can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come along Vince, you don’t want the poor old sod blowing a gasket do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince gathered some ingredients and set to mixing them. Garlic flowers. Tears of a hundred year old man. Elephant eyelashes. Birdy sat at the table and watched him work with her chin propped up on her closed fist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard Moon is back in town. Did you hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince nodded stiffly. Not looking up from the mixture he was creating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you must have. All your little spies, you don’t miss much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that Vince actively tried to spy. It was just that the animals liked him and liked to tell him things. And it wasn’t like he was getting anything useful. The things they found interesting varied widely from species to species. He could generally count on birds for a good conversation. They were bizarrely poetic gossips. They could tell him the movements of anyone in town but between those reports they would speak of flying. Using mysterious words such as skimlight, warmlifts, and the black sky. Mostly they gave him a heads up if someone with bad intentions was getting close. But cats only wanted to speak in grandiose terms about their hunting exploits and the lizards all wanted to talk about Jim Morrison. Not a lot of usable intel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite a bit a stir when he left, wasn’t there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince didn’t react. This was the real reason she’d come. So she could report back to the other nosey nana’s she hung around with. There was much speculation about what had happened to the witch child that summer twenty years previous. Why the Moon boy had left so abruptly. She thought she could pump him for information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm. Well he did just get in. Perhaps he’ll come see you. Of course you’ll want to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached over and gestured at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. His problem areas, as she had called them on many an occasion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction but his hands flew to his face of their own accord. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated that little self satisfied smile she wore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He added the final ingredient to the potion he’d made for her special friend. He put the solution into a bottle with an eyedropper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two drops at exactly noon every day. That’ll be fifty quid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck out his hand for the money but Birdie laid it on the table. She stood up. And eyed the sweets wrappers on the coffee table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re going to see him again you might want to lay off the sweets a bit darling. You’re getting a bit…” She tapped under her chin with the backs of her fingers, the international sign for a double chin. “Just trying to be helpful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked out of the cottage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shot her the double v for victory and flopped down on the couch in a huff. He fished a bag of raspberry bootlaces from between the couch cushions. He ate them with his head flopped back, staring at himself in one of his emergency ceiling mirrors. Batty old bint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard woke up with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch. He could smell warm beer from where he’d accidentally kicked the bottle over in the night. Howard was quite a restless sleeper. He cleaned up the beer, he swore he could almost hear his father berating him for the mess. Everything in the little house was old but perfectly maintained and neat as a pin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard puttered around the house. He supposed he should start packing his father’s things. Though he wasn’t sure what he planned to do with them. He had a meeting with his father’s solicitor later and also needed to make funeral arrangements but he felt completely overwhelmed. He needed to find new housing. A new job. His life had fallen apart over the course of 2 phone calls. And he wasn’t even sure where to begin putting it back together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ended up sitting in a chair. Staring at that spot on the floor until it was time to meet the solicitor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was surprised but not particularly pleased to find that his father had left him everything. They hadn’t spoken in twelve years and he’d half expected his father to donate all of his money to a conversion therapy camp or something, just as a final jab at his son. That one final twist of the knife from beyond the grave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps he could sell the cottage to tide him over until he found another teaching job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, a</span>
  <span> secret voice inside him thought, </span>
  <span>I could live there. Find a job around here. Close to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was putting the cart far in front of the horse wasn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to remember that he hated this place. He always had and he always would. But hating the place hadn’t stopped him from dreaming every night about returning. And now here he was. He’d come back. He didn’t even know if Vince was still here. Instead of hoping to see him he should be hoping that Vince finally left. Got out of this place he hated so much. But the heart wants what the heart wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He signed some papers and nodded when the solicitor said he’d call him if he needed anything else to finish his father’s estate. Then left the office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew he should make the arrangements. He wondered how long the funeral home would hold the body before they just cremated it. Whether that might not be easier. He couldn’t do that. His dad was his dad. The funeral home was close to the solicitor’s office. He could walk there. Just get it over with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Howard had never been a just get it over with kind of guy. He was more of a prolong the agony by delaying until there was literally no other choice guy. So he found himself wandering the village as he had when he was a kid. And he didn’t notice his feet were taking him down a very familiar route.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince gave up on getting any of his orders done. If there was ever a time to eat a box of chocolates and watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Practical Magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>whilst pining, it was this day. Vince set about getting all of his essentials in order. Silk kimono. Cup of tea with eight sugars, chocolates, special chocolates (his nice truffles from Belgium that he had flown in by owl), “special” chocolates (which had weed in them that he purchased from his shaman acquaintance Naboo), his face masks, a bit of sewing, a six pack of pre-mix flirtinis, and since he was really letting loose and going full yearning, he got out his walkman so he could listen to The Mixtape. Which had taken on capitalization in Vince’s mind and so he only thought of it as The Mixtape. As in The Only Mixtape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The object was to avoid getting off the couch at all costs. Vince really liked to have his stuff with him. It made him feel safe. To have things and have them close at hand. When he’d first lived with Bryan until he was about 8 or so he would carry two backpacks with him at all times. One with all of his school things and the other, packed to the straining point (he had to lie down on it to get it to zip),  held as many of his favorite clothes as he could fit. His whole world had been ripped in half on his fifth birthday and he would not again be caught unawares. He’d grown out of it. Of course he had. But he still liked the reassurance of things. Things held you in place when you were feeling unsteady. And he was feeling a bit unsteady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had poked his worn copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Practical Magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the ancient VCR and just flopped down onto his couch when there was a knock at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Closed,” Vince shouted. “Come back tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then three sloooow. Deliberate. Knocks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shot to his feet, he hurriedly tightened the belt on his kimono as he walked toward the door. He paused for just a moment to check his bottle black hair in another of his emergency mirrors he had rigged up on the slanted ceiling. He teased it just a bit then opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At dinner Bryan asked Vince why he was smiling so much. Vince tried to start his sentence a couple times but he kept having to cover his face with his hand because he was smiling too hard. He got this way sometimes. Giddy. Too excited to properly function. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan hoped he never lost it. The ability to allow himself to be overtaken by happiness. Some people held back. Could never let themselves experience true happiness because they were too focused on the fact it would be fleeting. They thought it would hurt more to have it and then have it be taken away than to never have it at all. Vince had learned the lesson early that it would be taken either way and it always hurt so it was best to enjoy it while you could.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince felt a bit silly that he couldn’t just say the words “I made a friend,” without turning into a giggling mess, but he did eventually get it out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And once the words were out, he found he couldn’t stem the tide. He told Bryan virtually everything he knew about Howard. Everything they’d spoken about. He knew Bryan sometimes got annoyed when he talked this much but he was smiling so Vince thought it was okay. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He even got Bryan to agree to Howard coming over to the cottage the next day since Bryan would be home to supervise the valuables.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After Bryan had agreed Vince let out a relieved sigh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s good. Cause I already told him ‘e could.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had been about to retire to his room but he paused. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked up at him with his most guileless puppy dog eyes, which Bryan had become immune to by the time Vince was 9 due to overuse. Bryan snorted laughter and turned away from Vince, shaking his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince called to his retreating back “Still alright then?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan jabbed one finger in the air. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Ever the optimist, he decided it meant yes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next day Vince awoke to loud knocking on his bedroom door. He answered the door with his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyeliner smeared under his eyes, and wearing just his pants.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why,” he whined, his eyes still bleary, assuming he was talking to Bryan, “would you wake me at this totally ungodly hour.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s 11:30.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But this voice did not belong to Bryan. Vince focused on who he was talking to for the first time. Howard. He let out a surprised squeak and slammed the door in Howard’s face.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Um. Vince?” Howard said, his voice muffled by the door.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just a second Howard!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince finger combed his hair into some semblance of the right shape, then pulled on some black drainpipes, and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. He rubbed his thumbs under his eyes to get rid of the smudged eyeliner, praying for a vaguely smoky look. With those tasks completed he opened the door again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright Howard?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. I’m alright. Are you alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Just wadn’t expecting you this early.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Early? Half the days been shot,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was quite proud of himself that he’d settled back into easy banter despite just moments ago being confronted with the vision of Vince answering the door in just his pants. He thought he was doing remarkably well. And perhaps deserved some sort of medal. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, some ‘a us are night owls,” Vince said, playfully scowling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had an adorable crinkle between his eyebrows as he tried to fix his hair.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, you certainly look like an owl, those big eyes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And the beak I suppose,” Vince said. He rubbed a finger down the flat plane of his nose. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wondered if Vince had broken his nose or if it had always looked that way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well I wasn’t going to point it out. ..”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d watch out about commenting on other people’s features, otherwise you’ll be in for a world of hurt,” Vince said. “People with shrimp eyes shouldn’t throw stones.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I’m shrimp eyes in this scenario.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thas right.” Vince jutted his chin out, challenging Howard. He licked his incisor. “I think we’re gonna need a signal. So that I know it’s you knocking.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So you can put clothes on.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Or take them off.” Vince winked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s cheeks burned. He honestly couldn’t tell whether Vince was being serious or not. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince adopted a caricature of being in deep thought, including cocked hip and finger pressed to his jaw. He tipped his eyes skyward. “Hmmm. The signal will be.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock. Knockknockknock knock knock. Knock knock. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Makes me sound like an overly jaunty neighbor in a sitcom.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sounds hot.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How about this?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard proceeded to do a deeply complicated knock that would of course have to change based on door resonance in order to be an accurate representation of the intention behind the knocking sound. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So I’m just supposed to let ya knock for two hours then let ya in? I’m never gonna remember that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At the same time they both knocked very slowly three times. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now we have it,” Vince said. “Glad to have that out the way.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hooked his foot around the edge of his door and swung it closed but as soon as the latch clicked a voice said “Door open Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince rolled his eyes and pulled the door open again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard and I are gonna have a snog on my bed!” He called out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince!” Howard hissed, his eyes darting toward the door. All hint of laughter left his body. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He would never dream of speaking to his father that way. That sort of cheek was absolutely not tolerated in the Moon household. Howard tried his absolute hardest not to ever say anything that could possibly provoke his father. And he still managed to run afoul of him constantly. To intentionally rile up his father was unthinkable. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And the only thing worse than getting yelled at by your own father was watching your friend getting yelled at by theirs. To have to sit there silently as your mate was berated to the point of tears. In Howard’s world all father’s were like his own. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Bryan didn’t stomp in and give Vince a slap for being cheeky or scream at him for being disrespectful. He just said, “Congratulations. Keep the door open.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crisis averted. They weren’t going to get screamed at. Everything was fine. It was all fine. So why was he having such a hard time breathing? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince must have spotted something in Howard’s face because he grew concerned.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You alright Howard?” He asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded but he was lying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince reached out to grab Howard’s arm but Howard snatched it away. Shaking his head. Still not talking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wot is it?” Vince fluttered around a bit, not sure how to help since he couldn’t touch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you want me to get Bryan?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard shook his head. He walked over to Vince’s bed and sat down on it. Putting his head between his knees. Finally he got himself back under control. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He raised his head. Vince’s face was approximately 2 inches away from his. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. I’m fine.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A panic attack. Another Goddamn panic attack. The first of the summer. Certainly not the last. He just prayed he didn’t have one in front of his father. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he’d had one in front of Vince. That was just fantastic. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat down next to Howard on the bed, careful not to touch him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s just something that happens,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Very hesitantly, “Can I give you a hug?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince wrapped his arms around Howard, clasping at Howard’s shoulder so Vince’s chest was pressed into his other shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince wasn’t sure if he should push Howard on what had happened. It certainly seemed like more than “just something that happens,” but he didn’t want to overstep. It might set him off again. Or worse, make him angry. Just because he felt like he’d known Howard forever didn’t erase the fact that they hadn’t even known each other a full day. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince decided that getting Howard’s mind off it was the best course of action. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I need your help with something.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. I’m gettin’ a bit sick a’ this color,” Vince said, running his fingers through his bleach blond hair, “been wantin’ a change. You can help me, since the illusion of my otherworldly perfection has been shattered and all.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard snorted at this. “And where do I come into this. Need an opinion on the color?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah right! Consult you? On color? Oh Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright then you little titbox,” Howard said, starting to smile again. “What do you want me to do?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh. you know. Standard stuff. Make sure I didn’t miss any spots.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Be ready with the washcloth so I don’t dye me neck.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh huh.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And uh, help me rinse.” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard went beet red and Vince laughed, his jaw working up and down, the sound loud and full. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bryan makes me use the hose outside to rinse out the dye ever since I accidentally dyed our sink purple.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sounds reasonable.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah it’s alright in the summer, ‘but it’s well cold in the winter.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did it never occur to you to just not dye your hair until spring? Just leave it alone.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When the hair muse takes you she takes you Howard. ‘Sides I cannot have my roots showin’. That is not on.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What is your natural color?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s between me and my pagan God.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine. Let’s get started. What’s step one?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Give us your shirt.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard clutched at his shirt as if Vince was going to rip it off him. “What? Why?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t want to get hair dye on any of my shirts, whereas yours could only be improved.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re skipping step one,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled at him. “Had to try didn’t I? Let’s go into the bathroom.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince mixed the dye and was about to start applying without laying down a towel or putting on the little plastic gloves or anything. Howard stopped him before he ended up dying his hands and the floor in addition to his hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard snatched the squeeze bottle out of Vince’s hand. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright!” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just hold on a moment. You’re going to make an absolute mess. Just. Gimme a moment yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard left the bathroom. He walked into the kitchen/living area/workshop. Bryan prodded at a plant, muttering under his breath.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Excuse me, Mr...uh,” Howard realized he didn’t know Bryan’s last name. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can call me Bryan.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“All due respect sir, no I can’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan hid a smile. This was the kid Vince chose to befriend. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mr. Ferry then.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks. Can I borrow a kitchen chair?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course Howard.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan thought to tell him that he didn’t have to ask, but he got the feeling that asking made Howard feel better. That he was a boy who very much liked to know where he stood. That ambiguity would only make him anxious. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And do you have any towels you wouldn’t mind getting stained?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve lived with Vince for 11 years. I learned how expendable towels were a long time ago. It’s alright if they get stained.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded and returned to the bathroom, carrying a kitchen chair.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sat Vince down in the chair then draped a towel over Vince’s shoulders.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled. “This is great. I feel like I’m at the salon.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The chemical smell of the hair dye was near overpowering in the small bathroom even with the door open. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard put on the little plastic gloves that came with the hair dye, they were a bit too tight for his large hands so he couldn’t get his fingers all the way in and had little flappy bits of plastic at the ends of all of his fingers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He grabbed the bottle of dye and squirted a portion onto Vince’s hair.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now what?” Howard asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Squish it around a bit.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince tried not to shiver as Howard ran his fingers through his hair. Squeezing hair dye on different sections. Flipping his hair this way and that to check for spots that were still blond instead of blue black. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A drip of dye rolled down the back of Vince’s neck. Howard wiped at it with a warm washcloth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince realized that neither of them had said anything for a long time. His natural instinct was to break the silence, but he was enjoying the feeling of Howard’s fingers too much to distract from it with a joke or some outrageous statement designed to draw Howard into laughing disagreement.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince wanted desperately to repeat the kiss from the day before, but he could tell Howard was shy, and he’d sort of just taken it before. He was content to let Howard set the pace for a bit. Unless Howard moved too slow, then he’d have to make another attempt, because he had not stopped thinking about the kiss since it happened. It was no secret. Vince liked kissing. He liked it a lot. It’s why he oftentimes found himself kissing people he didn’t especially like, because if he waited around to kiss someone he liked and liked him back he would have been waiting for...well for Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kissing Howard felt different than kissing Jean Claude or Joey or Missy or… ,Vince’s mind deliberately skipped over the final name, all the rest who hated him in public but always wanted more more more of him in private. Howard was sweet. Howard was kind. He was shy and funny and smelled good. And Vince knew it was stupid. And he knew it was premature. But he thought he might be falling in love with Howard Moon a little bit. He’d thought he’d found love before but he’d realized it was infatuation. The boy had been big and handsome and kind to him at first. He thought since the boy was older he was past all of the pettiness of the kids Vince’s own age. But he wasn’t past it. The extra years had just given him time to hone his cruelty like a fine blade. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His feelings for Howard felt right. The way the feelings were supposed to feel. Light. Happy. Innocent. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard worked his way around to the front. Taking special care not to get any dye on Vince’s forehead as he slicked back his fringe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had his eyes closed. There was something bizarrely intimate about dying Vince’ hair. Like Vince was a magician letting Howard in on all his secrets. Howard wondered if he should feel honored. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was running out of blond. Soon he was going to have to acknowledge that Vince’s hair was totally saturated. He was going to have to stop running his fingers through it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally he discarded the nearly empty dye bottle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince opened his eyes slowly. “Done?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard put Vince’s hair in a topknot so it wouldn’t make a mess and set a timer to let the dye set before they rinsed it out. While they were waiting they sat in Vince’s room. For the first time Howard got a good look at Vince’s room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had been expecting it to be messy and at first glance it seemed that it was, but that first glance was deceptive. The cluttered walls gave the illusion of messiness but Howard could see there was a place for everything and everything in its place. There was a vanity set up in one corner where there was an array of rough glass bottles, potions Howard assumed, mixed in with more traditional beauty products. All Vince’s clothes were hung up in the closet or neatly folded up in the chest of drawers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The walls were a chaotic burst of color. Swatches of fabric pinned up with thumbtacks. Pages torn from magazines. Stickers. Posters of pop stars. Drawings. Paintings. Fortune cookie fortunes. Sweet wrappers. Ticket stubs. Interesting clothes tags. It seemed every piece of ephemera that caught Vince’s eye ended up on his wall. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard found himself in love with the room the way he had quickly fallen in love with the entire cottage. It stood in such stark contrast to his father’s house where he always felt unwelcome. As if the very house was against him, every table reaching out to bark his shins, every door jamb shoulder checking him as he entered or exited, and every chair leg looking to stub his toe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cottage was welcoming with its cheerful clutter, sloping ceiling, and rough floors. Lizards had the run of the place. A gigantic cauldron sat in the middle of the main room, bubbling away, smoke from the giant fire under the cauldron commingled with pink steam and rose up through a chimney that was less a chimney and more a circular open skylight. Howard did have to wonder what they did when it rained. Moss grew up between the stones. Drying herbs and flowers hung from the sloped ceiling. The old mixed with the new with a telephone, an old VCR, and an even older TV. All of the furniture was old but cozy. This was a place built for comfort. This was a home. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince launched himself onto his bed, Howard lunged forward. Hands out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re going to get dye everywhere!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No ‘m not,” Vince said. He gestured to his pillow and quilt. “See?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince patted the bed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Every time he and Vince took some new leap he kept expecting to hit a wall or hit a point where things got weird. Or awkward. He’d had a panic attack in front of Vince. And Vince had completely taken it in stride. Showing concern but not pushing. They’d kissed within an hour of meeting each other. Howard had never gotten this close with anyone and he’d never done it this quickly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard knew he was an acquired taste. There were a few who had acquired it, sure. His bandmates back in Leeds. His mother. But Vince was the first person who seemed to have a taste for Howard right away. He wasn’t merely tolerating Howard. He wanted more. Howard couldn’t help smiling and laughing with Vince. It was just impossible not to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Vince crawled around so he was lying on his stomach with his feet kicked up in the air, crossing at the ankles. Howard searched for a moment for a word to describe the action then had to cover his eyes with his hand and smile despite himself as the word coquettish sprang to mind. It was silly but also perfect. That’s how he felt with Vince, silly and perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smacked him. “Wot you smilin’ at you weirdo?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard listened to a lot of music. Music taught him everything he knew about the world. He talked a big game about reading, but he actually found it quite difficult to focus, and he wasn’t much for films either, so music was his best teacher in the matters of love. He’d thought he knew what it felt like to be in love because he’d listened to Etta James and Nina Simone and Cole Porter sing about it. That music essentially constituted psychic communication and so their emotions were his. But now he finally truly knew what it was to be a giddy lovestruck teenager. Every moment charged with sparking energy but so effortless as well. It couldn’t be this easy. He’d just fallen into it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But of course Howard couldn’t come right out and say “I think I love you.” They’d only known each other a day. So no. Howard couldn’t say what he was really smiling about.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll keep my own counsel, thank you,” he said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oooh. Very mysterious.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I rather thought so.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While they waited for the timer to go off they volleyed banter back and forth as easily as a shuttlecock in badminton. Not trying to stump each other, sending each other high graceful arcing setups so the game could continue.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard got a bit restless when there was no music playing so they dug through Vince’s not unimpressive record collection to find something to listen to. There wasn’t much in the way of overlap between their tastes. So they settled for the Queen album </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jazz. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Which Vince saw as the perfect compromise and at that point Howard was too worn down to argue. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before they knew it, it was time to go outside and rinse out Vince’s hair. Howard briefly considered averting his gaze as Vince took off his shirt but then reasoned he was going to see Vince shirtless anyway, surely it didn’t matter if he saw him take off his shirt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince, perhaps sensing Howard’s inner turmoil, attempted to take his shirt off sexily while avoiding getting any dye on it. He ended up stuck with dye smeared across his forehead and arms for his trouble. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard laughed at Vince, stuck in the shirt with his arms trapped above his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quit laughin’ ya berk! Come ‘elp me!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That stopped Howard’s laughing quick smart. He hustled forward, really taking one for the team.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Try an’ do somethin’ nice for somebody and then they jus’ stand and laugh in your time a need,” Vince said, scowling at Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard responded by spraying Vince full in the face with the garden hose. Then going to his knees he was laughing so hard at Vince looking like an angry drowned crow with rivulets of black water streaming down his face.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While Howard was incapacitated Vince took the hose and sprayed Howard. Thus began a water fight that only ended when Vince’s scalp started burning from the dye being in too long. Then it was a quick code red with Vince shrieking for Howard to rinse it all out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince spent a few minutes in the bathroom making sure his hair wasn’t going to fall out and determined there was no harm done, he then spent another ten minutes checking out the new color. Howard finally barged into the bathroom and caught Vince admiring himself in the mirror.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did ya get lost in your reflection?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince turned to face him, “Sorry Howard. Lost track a time a bit.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re just like a budgie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t exactly blame Vince though. The black hair suited him. Really suited him. As if it had been an oversight of the universe for him not to have been born with raven black hair. It made his skin more luminous. The color of his eyes deeper. His pointy mismatched features more coalescent. Good lord. He was going to write a sonnet wasn’t he?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They spent the rest of the day together. And when Howard came back the next day he made sure to use their special knock. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. He’d been walking around town, deep in thought,  and then he found he wasn’t in town anymore, but then became quickly lost in thought again and before he knew it he was standing at the gate of the round stone cottage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d changed the sign. “Appointment Only” was crossed out. Of course Vince would hate the idea of appointments. Unless Vince wasn’t here anymore and this was some other appointment hating witch, but then he saw the other new addition. “No Love Spells”. That was certainly Vince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shouldn’t be here. The sign proved it. But then he was standing in front of the door and he must have knocked because a voice he’d recognize anywhere said “Closed. Come back tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew this bit…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew this bit. He knocked on the door slowly three times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From inside he heard a gasp. A loud bang then quiet cursing. A deep breath. Then the door swung open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there was Vince with a shy smile on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s first thought upon seeing Vince again was </span>
  <em>
    <span>he kept the black</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His second was that Vince looked exactly the way he’d thought he would all grown up. Even more beautiful. His third was </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t do this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he turned on his heel and walked back toward the lane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi where ya goin’?” Vince yelled after him. “Howard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t slow down. This had been a mistake. Such a mistake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t do this. You can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. You come ‘ere, Get my hopes-Why’d you even come?” Vince’s voice cracked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head but didn’t turn around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That wanker. That WANKER. How dare he come here after all this time. Then just. Just leave? What. Did he just want one last glimpse of the witch child? Now just an old witch? Did he get one look at Vince and decide he wasn’t worth the trouble after all? He couldn’t just do this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince left the door of the cottage hanging open. He ran to his shelf of potions and grabbed an armful. Then he ran after Howard. He was sure he looked a sight. His hair all a mess, his kimono trailing through the dirt, carrying an armful of extremely delicate glass bottles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had reached the lane and was heading back to town.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince screamed “Oi, small eyes!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when Howard turned around, Vince hurled one of the potion bottles at him. It smashed into his chest and shattered, showering Howard in hair growth potion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instantly Howard’s curls started growing out of control. His mustache quickly turned into a beard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard ran his fingers through his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pelted him with another potion. This one made zits appear. Kids liked to buy it to use against bullies, romantic rivals, and frenemies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spots instantly started cropping up all over Howard’s chin and forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince threw another potion at him, but Howard managed to dodge it, despite his hair now almost covering his eyes. It landed in a bush and the bush turned bright purple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was not so lucky to dodge the next. This one a numb tongue potion most popular with people getting their tongue pierced but was also quite effective if someone you didn’t like was going to be giving a speech. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tried to talk. “Vinf, ‘m tryn’ thay thorry.” He touched his tongue, no feeling at all. “M’ rrrrrealllllly th-” Then he promptly passed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had unfortunately made the classic error of forgetting that the numb tongue potion and the hair growth potion did not interact well together and combined into a powerful sleeping agent with nasty side effects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince ran forward. “Howard. Howard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The big man did not wake up. His hair continued to grow. It was well past his shoulders. And his face was covered in spots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pressed his face into Howard’s chest, laughing helplessly, and only crying a little bit. “Oh Howard. You’re a wreck. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard smelled almost the same. Of tea and fall, but something was missing. Finally Vince was able to place it. He no longer smelled of smoke. Howard also felt different. As a teenager he’d been gangly. Shooting to his adult height far too fast. He’d finally filled out. He was large and solid and...gorgeous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince used a Danish hovering spell he’d picked up from his friend Sandi to get Howard back into the house, as there was no way he’d be able to budge Howard on his own, and then went about setting the poor sod back to rights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d spent all this time longing to see Howard again and the first thing he did was render him unconscious. Really well done. One of these days his impulsiveness was going to really get him into trouble. Well, it actually already had on more than one occasion. He just couldn’t seem to help it. An idea would flit into his head and he would instantly act on it. Didn’t matter what kind of idea it was. A good one. A bad one. A stupid one. A brilliant one. As soon as it bobbed up in his mind tank he acted on it. It had been that way ever since he was a kid. But maybe it was time for him to grow up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard awoke to the sound of snipping scissors and gentle tugging on his hair. Had he fallen asleep while getting a haircut? That seemed unlikely. Going to the barber was a source of great anxiety for Howard. He always felt like he was failing the barber in some fundamental way. Not making enough small talk. Not leaning back as he should. Never remembering what length they used on the clippers. There was no way he would fall asleep there. So where-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flew open. And were met with a pair of gigantic blue eyes about two inches from his face. He jerked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank goodness you’re awake,” Vince said. “Hold still. I think the hair potion is wearin’ off. I’ve already taken care of the spots. Just gotta give ya one last trim.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince moved about Howard’s head with a pair of scissors. Trimming his hair back down to a reasonable length and a style more in line with Vince’s personal preferences, he’d always wanted a chance to take a crack at Howard’s hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard felt his face and found the rash of spots were gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“V-” The moment Howard tried to talk a sharp spike of pain jabbed between his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry ‘bout that Howard. Totally forgot you ain’t ‘sposed ta mix the Miracle Grow wiv the Dumb Tongue,” Vince said. “It should all wear off soon, but til then if ya try’n speak it’ll give ya a right blinder. And you can only talk in french...sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Je suis tellement désolé Vince,” Howard said, powering through the pain. Trying to tell Vince he was sorry. He pressed the heel of his hand to the space between his eyebrows. Christy did it hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince either didn’t understand him or was choosing to ignore what he’d said. He snipped a few more pieces of Howard’s hair. “Think I’m done. Care to take a look?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded. Vince pulled Howard to his feet and directed him to a mirror near the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the best Howard’s hair had ever looked. Thick and full. Dark curls tumbling down just to his collar. A bit messy but in a purposeful way. And his mustache looked thicker and fuller than ever before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Howard was checking his hair in the mirror he felt two thin arms slide around his waist and squeeze him. He tried to reach behind him to return the hug but Vince drew back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh eh!” Vince said, as if Howard were a misbehaving cat about to climb up on the counter. “I get to hug you. You don’t get to hug me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard dropped his head a bit, but then lowered his arms. That was fair. Vince came around to his front and wrapped his arms around Howard again, with his face pressing into Howard’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard might not be allowed to hug Vince back but he hadn’t specifically prohibited Howard resting his cheek on the crown of Vince’s head. So he did. At first Vince tensed, but then he sighed as if to say “I’ll allow it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had also not specifically forbade Howard from breathing and so was it really Howard’s fault that when he took a breath he was able to smell all that was Vince? The mint and lavender of his homemade shampoo and conditioner. Smoke from the fire under the cauldron he kept stoked day and night. The clean sweetness that seemed to emanate from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard braved another spike of pain to say, “je vous ai manqué.” I missed you. He didn’t understand the words coming out of his own mouth. He hoped Vince did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s voice was muffled by Howard’s chest. “Je connais.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t know what it meant. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3 and First Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the past Howard learns more about Vince, in the present Vince isn't quite ready to forgive and forget.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard watched as Vince distributed birdseed to a flock of pigeons. Whistling and cooing at them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright my lovelies, gather round, gather round,” Vince said softly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It should have been ridiculous. To see a teenage boy in sparkly high heeled boots murmuring to the pigeons, but to Howard it just looked nice. Right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is basically the best part a’ the day,” Vince told Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What a thrilling life you lead,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince socked him in the arm.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I get caught up on all the gossip that’s been going on, ain’t nuffin’ in this town happens that I dunno about. Birds got a network you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you speak bird do you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Bryan taught me. I told him it was pointless since I could already talk to animals, but he said it was polite to talk to em in their own language. ‘Specially since it’s easier ta learn than other animal languages.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What you on about?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t turn away from the coop.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean like, fish is way harder to learn than bird innit? So I never learned that. So’s I just talk to the fish usin’ my gift.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What gift?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ain’t you been listenin’? I can talk to animals. “ </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get lost,” Howard said. He’d chalked up most of the things Mr. Ferry sold to people being rubes and the placebo effect. He drew the line at Vince having magical animal powers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought you knew!” Vince sounded a bit defensive. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How could I know?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince finally abandoned his task and turned around to face Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You saw me get in that argument with Jeremy!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh this was just silly. “Jeremy the toad?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well I didn’t think it was a real argument did I?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why not?” Vince asked, honestly baffled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had never had anyone doubt his gift before.  All the townsfolk knew he could do it. Of course they all thought he used his gift to enchant rats to sneak into their houses or dogs to bite people, but they didn’t doubt he could do it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t tell if Howard thought he was joking. Or lying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because people don’t get into arguments with toads.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah they do.” Vince’s voice was getting more and more high pitched. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“People don’t talk to animals Vince.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This got under Vince’s skin a bit. Howard was being condescending and he didn’t actually know what he was talking about. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t sure why he was leaning on this so hard. It just seemed silly. More superstition. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah they do. It ain’t even that rare,” Vince said, crossing his arms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh really. Who else then?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mowgli.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fictional.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cinderella.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Also fictional.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My mum.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard immediately stood down. He’d been having a bit of fun pushing Vince’s buttons. Winding him up as Vince often did him, but he could tell he was edging into more dangerous territory than he’d initially thought. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince felt a little bad playing the mum card, but it was true. His mother hadn’t given him much, but she had given him her gift. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay,” Howard said, but his tone was not very convincing. Vince could tell he was being placated.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is all pointless anyway,” Vince said, “I’ll just prove it to ya.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince whistled to one of the pigeons. It settled down on his shoulder. He whispered to the pigeon then it flew over and sat on Howard’s head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard tried not to shudder at the feel of its feet scritching his scalp. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince whistled again and the pigeon flapped away from Howard only to be instantly replaced by a bluebird.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince whistled and the bluebird took off from Howard’s head only to be replaced by a blackbird. Then a grackle. Howard ducked when he saw a goose approaching so Vince waved the goose off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay. You can talk to animals.” Howard laughed a bit. Bemused and amazed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Told ya.” Vince knocked Howard’s shoulder with his own to show there were no hard feelings.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince threw in some more birdseed. When one large pigeon muscled its way to the front and pecked at a smaller bird, Vince yelled “Oi! Theodora! Let ‘er ‘ave some you slag!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As Vince fed the various animals around the cottage he introduced Howard to everyone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Elisha the hawk. Norb the goat. Mr. Rabbit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s well old,” Vince told Howard as he scratched between the rabbit’s ears. “E’s basically immortal at this point. Bryan used to use him to test spells but they’ve all combined in really weird ways. When I was little n’ Bryan had to go outta town ‘e’d leave Mr. Rabbit in charge.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard assumed some of the magical experimentation had led to Mr. Rabbit’s strange markings. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Angelique the cow. Lopez the bat. Antony Daggs the snake. And all the rest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After feeding the animals they went to what Howard thought of as their spot. The lake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince climbed onto the log first and Howard followed. Howard loved how Vince would press into his side even though there was plenty of room on the log. With basically everyone else, but especially his father, touch hurt. Touching made him nervous and manifested as a burning sensation. It was especially bad when it was unexpected. But that wasn’t the case with Vince. Howard took it as another sign that Vince was special. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t help but notice that since the first day, the kiss had not been repeated. Maybe Vince didn’t actually like him that way. Howard was glad to just be friends if that was what Vince wanted, but in his heart of hearts he really did want to kiss Vince again. It felt so right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> It had also been fun. Which was not a word Howard often associated with kissing. He’d done a bit of kissing back home in Leeds. He was in a band. And even someone as awkward as Howard managed to kiss people from time to time due to that fact. He’d figured out pretty much straight away that he preferred kissing boys to kissing girls. But in all honesty he’d never liked kissing much. He always found himself over thinking it. Deploying the moves he’d been taught. Clockwise tongue. Counterclockwise tongue. Suck on their lip. It was all too soggy and gross for him. But it hadn’t been like that with Vince. With Vince it had been soft. And sweet. He hadn’t been mechanically working through his moves. He was in the moment. Connected. With Vince, kissing felt the way it was supposed to feel. The way it must feel for other people all the time otherwise there was no way they’d keep doing it.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He desperately wanted to feel that way again. But he didn’t want to push Vince if he wasn’t interested. Vince was an inveterate flirt and he might have just been flirting with Howard. Or perhaps he should have taken Vince at his word that the only reason he’d kissed him was to stop him from scatting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Or, his mind supplied, maybe he’s feeling as nervous as you and wants you to make the next move. But that was preposterous. Vince didn’t get nervous. He was brash and confident. He wasn’t scared of anything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But then he thought about how Vince had closed his eyes as Howard ran his fingers through his hair while he was dying it. And how he’d sometimes catch Vince staring at him. Biting his lip. And how Vince would go a delicate shade of pink and glance away. Maybe it was Howard’s turn. But he had to find the right time. It had to be perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dusk lasted forever this time of year, so Howard didn’t really notice it was getting sort of late. He didn’t want to go home. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not when the pinkening sky played such pretty shadows across Vince’s face. Not when Vince bit his lip and kicked his hanging feet. But eventually he had to. And he was going to have to get a wiggle on if he was going to beat his father home. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s cottage was exactly five cigarettes from the edge of the village. It was perfect timing. He could smoke far away from prying eyes and have time to air out the smell before getting back to his father’s house. His father hated smoking. Which was awfully rich from a functioning alcoholic but Howard had made no attempt to point out the irony.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If he beat his father home then he could stay in his room until it was time for dinner. But when Howard walked into the house his father was already home. He sat in his armchair. Watching rugby.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>4 dead soldiers stood vigil in the sink.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey dad,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was almost to his room when a half full can of beer connected with his back, exploding beery foam everywhere. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It only hurt a little bit but the surprise of it caused Howard to yelp.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s brain cells ran around in panic circle, trampling each other, screaming “he knows! He knows about Vince. Someone saw and he knows!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told ya, no fuckin’ smokin’.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t a strong liar but this was not one of those times where admitting to wrongdoing was going to help.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I haven’t,” he squeaked. “Really dad, I haven’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Any relief he might have felt that his father wasn’t talking about Vince was short lived. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John levered himself out of his chair and stalked toward Howard. Howard shrank from him. John grabbed Howard by the shirt and pressed him against the wall.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You reek of it,” he said. Close enough that Howard could feel his hot breath on his ear.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just-some guys were smokin’ out front the pub. I just walked through it. I didn’t-I wouldn’t-” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard managed to convince his father he was telling the truth. And his father apologized. “Sorry Teej. You know how much I hate the smoke. Does my head in. What say we go to the cafe for dinner tonight?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stiffly nodded. Fighting back tears. Forcing a smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So they drove to the cafe. As they walked out to the car his father reached up and squeezed his neck in what he was sure was meant to be an affectionate manner but mostly just hurt. Howard did his best not to tense up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As they drove down the street toward the other side of town they passed Vince on the side of the road. Howard knew he was probably on a sweets run.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before Howard could say or do anything his father started muttering darkly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuckin’ disgrace. The way that freaks been raised up. If it’d gone to a good Christian ‘ome ‘e mighta ‘ad a chance a growin’ up normal. But look at the state a’ him. Can’t tell if it’s a boy or a bleedin’ girl. “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard dug his fingers into the upholstery in the car. He did not like the way his father referred to Vince as “it”.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now I can understand poofters, least they know what they are. But that kid don’ know what the fuck ‘e is. “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was so angry he could barely think straight. Sparks of light danced at the edges of his darkening vision. His world was shrinking down to a pinhole as his father’s words washed over him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That little wiggle walk he does. He wears makeup an’ dresses as well. Fuckin’ disgusting. If that was you, I’d knock ya straight inta next Tuesday an’ you’d thank me for it. Make ya a proper man.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted so badly to say something, but he also knew things would get very bad very quick if he did.  His breathing quickened. He felt like his throat was closing up. And still his father talked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You stay far away from that little faggot. You understand me Teej? I catch you anywhere near ‘im an’ I’ll cave your ‘ead in.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t breath. He felt like his head was going to explode. He was having a panic attack and his dad didn’t even notice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew he should say something. Should tell his dad not to talk that way about Vince. That Vince was better than anyone in this piece of shit town and that if his dad ever EVER called Vince a faggot again then Howard would cave HIS head in. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he was a coward. He wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to stand up to his father. Even for the stuff that really mattered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They arrived at the cafe and his father made the rounds. Greeting people. Clapping his big hand on people’s backs. Smiling a wide grin that only came out in public. His father never ever smiled that way at home. Howard welcomed the distraction. While his father spoke with people, Howard sat at their table. Sipping water and trying to breathe. By the time his father sat down he had himself back under control and the rest of the evening passed without incident.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next morning Howard brought his guitar to the stone cottage. Vince had been after him for days to bring it but Howard had always waved him off. Not ready to show Vince his music. But after all the vile things his father had said, Howard felt like he should make it up to Vince somehow. Even though Howard hadn’t done anything. And Vince had no way of knowing what had been said. He still found himself wanting to make it up to him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When he arrived at the cottage he found Vince having a heated argument with the pigeons in their coop. He couldn’t understand because Vince was speaking in the language of the birds rather than simply using his gift. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince whistled and the birds whistled back. Vince whistled some more, complicated patterns, then the pigeons fired back. Howard could tell Vince was getting frustrated by the way his eyebrows drew together. He whistled some more. Finally the birds flew out of the coop in a long stream.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What was that all about?” Howard had asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Less you know the better,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But then Bryan, now that a couple weeks had passed he was Bryan now rather than Mr. Ferry, came boiling out of the cottage and dragged Vince off for a brief hissed conversation. Vince returned with a sour look on his face. He informed Howard that he was in trouble and that he couldn’t see Howard for the next week.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s eyes finally alighted on Howard’s guitar. “Oh no, and you brought your guitar! I’m sorry Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s alright,” Howard said, perhaps a bit secretly relieved to not have to show Vince his music after all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Howard had turned around and gone home. A whole week without Vince seemed damn near untenable, but he’d do his best. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He dropped the guitar back at the house. He spent most of the day at the library but found he couldn’t focus at all. And he didn’t look forward to having to do the same thing tomorrow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wondered what Vince had done to make Bryan so angry. Bryan seemed so laid back. He generally seemed to let Vince do whatever he wanted. So it all seemed very strange. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince, generally the consummate optimist but not at the moment, knew the day was going to be rubbish just as the last few days had been. Bryan was still cross about his stunt with the birds and had basically banned Howard from the premises until further notice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d only been allowed to leave the cottage to accompany Bryan to town to go grocery shopping.  And only because he didn’t trust Vince not to go meet Howard somewhere the moment he left. So while Bryan picked out their (more likely than not disgusting) food for the week, Vince stood by the magazine’s idly flipping through an issue of Cheekbone and wondering if he could pull off a nose ring. Then he heard a “psst!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t see who was trying to get his attention, but his mind instantly jumped to Howard. He looked around, trying to see who it was, but he didn’t see anyone. Then there was that sound again “psst!” He walked toward it, into the pet food aisle where no one ever was. There was no one there. Then someone shoved him backwards, pinning him to the shelf, and immediately started kissing him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He shoved them backwards “Geroff me!” He said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He whipped his hair out of his eyes and saw it was Jean Claude. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s the matter?” Claude asked. He reached out and played with the hem of Vince’s t-shirt. Vince let him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nuffin’, jus’ don’t do that,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I ain’t seen you around much.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Well, I been busy alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude reached up and hooked his fingers in the collar of Vince’s shirt, dragging him close.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Busy doing what? Or should I ask who?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince grabbed Jean Claude’s hand and flung it away from him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s none of ya business. Just leave me alone yeah? And you can tell all the rest the same. Don’t come round. Don’t try and talk to me. I’m done.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This about Moon?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince went bright red.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh my gosh it is! The witch child is in love. That is so sweet.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince tried to leave, but Jean Claude bracketed him in with his arms, keeping him trapped against the shelf.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Does he know about you? Know what you like?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince heard Bryan calling for him. “I gotta go.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For a moment he was scared Jean Claude wasn’t going to let him leave, but then he dropped his arms to his side to let Vince pass. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“See ya later, slag.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard spent the next few days at the library. Wondering if maybe Bryan had relented. Whether he might be able to see Vince or if his showing up before the ban was over would only make things worse. The final day of his exile dawned bright and dreadful.  Howard wandered around town the way he had before he met Vince, listening to the same Coltrane tape over and over. He was running out of cigarettes and was trying to think of a way to get some without it getting back to his father when he saw a group of kids his own age hanging by the chemists. He hurried past them, not wanting any trouble, but they stepped out in front of him. Blocking his way.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re Howard Moon yeah?” A boy with dark eyes asked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. Hello,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The boy stuck out his hand. “Jean Claude Jacquettie.” He pointed to his friends. “This here’s Hamilton Cork.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A boy with a portwine birthmark stuck out his hand. “Call me Corky.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Missy Gideon.” Jean Claude pointed to a tall thin girl with glasses. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This ‘ere’s my girlfriend Lucy Bainbridge.” Jean Claude slung an arm around a beautiful blond girl.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Joey Moose.” A muscular boy with long blond hair nodded at Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“N this is Bobby Fossil.” Jean Claude pointed to a very round boy wearing a  baby blue t-shirt about 2 sizes too small. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How’s it goin’ Moonboy?” Fossil reached out and playfully tapped Howard’s balls. Howard took a step back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello. Nice to meet you all,” Howard said, trying to edge past them. In his experience large groups of teenagers were to be feared. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We ain’t seen ya around much,” Jean Claude said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh. Yes. Well, I’ve just been-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hangin’ out with Vince Noir?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Apparently Howard’s shifty gaze was answer enough because Jean Claude clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You gotta be careful of that one Moon. He’s strange. Not right.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After his father’s comments, Howard had next to zero patience for this bullshit.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How so?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He talks to animals. And they listen to him. They do his bidding. He set a fox on Bobby once. Well weird.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They made it sound so dark. Yes, animals listened to Vince. He spoke with them. He was like a bloody Disney Princess! Not the Prince of Darkness. For God’s sake, the other day Vince had sung a duet of I Want to Hold Your Hand by the Beatles with a blackbird. Howard had asked why he wasn’t singing Blackbird and Vince had scoffed, denouncing that as a cliche. That was as far from evil as it was possible to get.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “And he can use his witchy powers on people. Get em ta do stuff-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if anyone with half a brain would want to deny Vince anything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And he uses love spells on people’s boyfriends!” Lucy interjected.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At this, Jean Claude dropped his gaze and kicked at the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard could see exactly what had happened. Jean Claude got caught stepping out on Lucy and blamed Vince. It was plain as day. Sure. Crops die. Eggs go missing. Boyfriends cheat. Blame it on the witch child.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks for the warning, I’ll be fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jean Claude’s grip on Howard’s shoulder tightened. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We din’ wanna bring this out right up front but he’s a total slag,” Joey said, “He’ll go down on anyone anytime. Girl. Boy. Don’ matta. Can’t get enough of it. You’re betta off without ‘im Moono.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard swiped Jean Claude’s hand off his shoulder but then Corky and Fossil were right there. Grabbing him on either side. At that moment an older boy exited the store. He carried a case of beer. He was solid through and through and had the respectable beginning of a mustache. He was 20 or 21. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s all this then?” The older boy demanded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“New kids spending a lot of time with the girlyboy,” Corky said. “Thought we might save him some trouble down the road.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let go of him,” the older boy said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The teenagers all looked surprised but did as the man said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Corky and Fossil let go. The man stepped forward. He set down the case of beer. He straightened Howard’s shirt. He was stocky and well built. Muscles roiled under his well tailored shirt and cravat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pay these hooligans no mind, Moon,” he said. “I like Vince. I always have. In fact. I’m having a party at mine this evening. Why don’t you come? Bring Vince as well.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure?” Howard darted a glance at the sullen faces of the teenagers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course!” This older boy had a round booming voice. “We haven’t properly welcomed you into the village. And we haven’t properly welcomed Little Noir either. I hate to think about how we’ve all neglected our duties and there is no time like the present to remedy it.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t generally the party type. In Leeds the only time he got invited to parties was when his band was hired to play them. But he thought Vince might like to go. And it could be sort of a date. Then he could kiss Vince. Make the first move this time. This thought made Howard’s stomach do a barrel roll. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The older boy gave Howard his address and told him things would probably only really start to kick off around 10. It was only after the man and the teenagers had left that Howard realized he’d forgotten to get the guy’s name. Well, he would just get it that night at the party.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He ambled down the lane toward Vince’s. Maybe he could flag Vince down and ask him to the party without Bryan seeing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He heard yelling coming from inside the cottage.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He thought he heard Vince scream, “I won’t do it!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t sure what to do. Part of him wanted to step in. What if Bryan hit Vince? He wouldn’t be able to bear it. But if it was just a normal argument he might make things worse by showing up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He stood by the entrance and tried to hear what was going on. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then the door whipped open and Vince came running out and smacked straight into him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They both fell to the ground. But without bothering to see who he had run into Vince clambered to his feet and took off running. He was barefoot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince!” Howard yelled after him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Bryan came charging out after Vince and ended up tripping over Howard who was still lying on the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Argh!” They both screamed and their voices were uncannily similar.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard. Nice to see you,” Bryan said drily. He helped Howard to his feet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s going on with Vince?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think I’ll let him answer that. He’s probably down at the lake. He likes to go there to sulk. Tell him we will speak when he’s ready to come back and act like an adult instead of a spoiled brat.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With that Bryan went back into the house. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard walked down the little path to the lake behind the cottage.  He saw Vince standing by the water’s edge. As close as he could get without the gently lapping water touching his toes. Vince wrapped his skinny arms around himself. A cold breeze on the lake raising goosebumps on his pale arms. His face was red and puffy from crying. Eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner tracked down his face in black rivers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had  been prepared to be in a strop again all day, and to make matters worse he’d awakened to gentle cooing and knew the pigeons had come back. He shot out of bed and ran out to the tree where they’d all roosted, pulling on a pair of trousers as he moved. He whistled but they didn’t answer. He gave up on speaking to them in bird language and instead hissed at them to “leave!” He only spoke bird language out of courtesy so if he felt constrained by addressing them in their native tongue he could impress his meaning more directly by using his gift instead. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d tried so hard to save them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The full moon was the next night. They were starting a new batch of Stray.  He thought setting the pigeons free would buy him another month. Where one of the pigeons wouldn’t have to be sacrificed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear the idea of any of his lovelies being used in service of a love spell. If it was almost anything else he could take comfort that the life would be for a good cause. But love spells never did anyone any good and anyone who told you different was probably a monster. Sometimes Vince thought he might hate Bryan for selling love spells. He was supposedly a white witch and yet he’d sell something like that. Spells that took the most beautiful and precious thing in the world, love, and twisted it into something dark and wrong. At best it placed an asterisk on a relationship. They were always left to wonder if they could have made it work on their own. It seeded doubt from the very beginning. That was at best. At worst, love spells could destroy lives. He didn’t want his lovelies dying in service to this task. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He screamed at them. Telling them to go. Throwing rocks at them. Ignoring the hurt squawks. It didn’t matter if he hurt them. So long as he saved them. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They were back and they wouldn’t be leaving again. They stayed in the tree and when Bryan opened the coop they all flew into it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I set them free. I saved them. Why’d they come back?” Vince asked, his voice quiet and small.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because they’re homing pigeons. It’s what they do. Their hearts are pure, so they always come home. It’s why they’re so good for love spells.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please Bryan. Please.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You got attached to them. Again. These spells are our livelihood. I cannot afford to buy a new flock because you made a new group of friends.” Bryan said. “You always get too attached and it causes you nothing but pain.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan reached into the coop and pulled out one of the birds.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sobbed, “No, please not Marjorie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You always make things so hard on yourself,” Bryan said. But he softened and put the pigeon back in the coop and selected another.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not Dimmsdale.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It hurt Bryan to think it, but Vince’s heart was too big for its own good. He had so much love to give and so few takers that he gave his whole heart to anyone and everyone. He’d already been hurt so many times. But Vince was brave. He was always ready to be hurt again. And the truth was Vince’s love of the birds made the love spells they were a part of that much stronger. But Bryan wasn’t so cold as to encourage the attachment. He had to be stern. Had to teach Vince how to be strong. Or the world would eat him alive. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan glowered at Vince. “I am making this love spell. I am using one of these birds. Would you like to pick?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Bryan sighed at the childish gesture. Of course Vince couldn’t pick. They were his friends. His confidants.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince felt a coward. He should pick. Since he cared for them. What if Bryan picked one who was scared? Or one who was trying to be brave for the others? Oh, but if he chose. What if they finally figured out he had favorites? Would whichever one he chose think it was because he hated them? And if he chose once, what if it got easier to choose next time? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Setting the pigeons free had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He thought he’d explained to them properly that they were in danger. That they would die if they ever returned. It was hard to describe death in the language of the birds. He’d told them they would be sent to the black sky. And he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find each other again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t know what to do. So he turned on his heel and stomped back into the house. He grabbed a shirt off his floor then locked himself in the bathroom and set to work cleaning off his running makeup. He stayed in the bathroom for an hour. Even more than his room, the bathroom was his sanctuary. Where he built himself up every morning.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan sat in the main room, working on a memory spell, and waiting for Vince to come out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Vince came out of the bathroom his makeup was perfect. He hadn’t stopped at eyeliner,  mascara, and lippy, his usual casual look. No, he had done a full face. Pale foundation that left his skin looking flawless. Delicate pink rouge. Smokey eyeshadow. Purple lipstick so dark as to be almost black. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He told himself it was good motivation not to cry. Lest he ruin the look. But in truth he always felt strong when he felt beautiful. There was power in it for him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan gestured for him to sit down at the table. Vince sat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is the life of a witch. We take care of the creatures as best we can. And we honor their sacrifice,” Bryan said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fucked up,” Vince said. His eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from spilling over and ruining his look. He dabbed at the corner of his eye with the sleeve of his shirt. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His words came out in a nasal honk. “You’re supposed to be a fucking vegitarian. You don’t allow meat in the fucking house but you’ll stab a pigeon in the heart with a needle so some- some housewife can RAPE her husband!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could tell he was getting hysterical. But he was on a roll and the torrent of words would not be stopped. “Or so some dickhead who can’t take no for an answer takes some poor bird for a ride, decides she looked better from the outside looking in and leaves her wiv’ a broken heart she had no choice in. Or some sad sack decides to magic the gay away and does himself so he can get it up for his wife once every-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Enough!” Bryan yelled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shocked, Vince snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t control the shuddery little breaths as he did his best to stay upright in his chair under Bryan’s glare. He couldn’t stop the tears. But he met Bryan’s gaze. He met him square.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know what you’ve been through. Trust me. I know better than anyone. But I will not sit here and listen to you talk about people that way. I won’t have it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince wrapped his arms around himself. “What you do is worse. What you do is so much worse.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll never be a good witch if you aren’t willing to do what’s necessary.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then I won’t be a good witch. I honestly don’t care.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I took you in. I’ve taken care of you all these years, protected you from your family, and you can’t do this one-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My hero,” Vince said witheringly, “Thank you so much for taking me in Bryan. You only did it because you felt like you had to. Because you felt guilty.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan opened and closed his mouth several times.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince knew this was a low blow. And a shit thing to say. But he was willing to fight dirty. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You are going to help me with this love spell,” Bryan yelled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I won’t do it!” Vince shrieked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sprang to his feet and ran out the door. Some nonce was standing on the doorstep. Vince smacked straight into them. Knocking them both to the ground but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t see through the tears. He just climbed up and kept going.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At this time of day this side of the lake was bathed in shadow and he was actually getting cold as he stood by the water. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He got close to the water’s edge. He’d played a game when he was little. To see how close he could get to the water’s edge without getting his toes wet. He was quite good but eventually he would miscalculate and a tiny rogue wave would cause him to lose. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The little game calmed him. Allowed him to get himself back under control. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He turned and saw Howard. And just like that Vince’s face crumpled. He shook his head and ran into Howard’s arms. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard felt Vince’s hands twisting the back of his shirt into knots with his fists. Vince’s nose was pressed so hard to Howard’s chest that it was mashed flat. Forcing Vince’s breathing to come and go in shaky whistles. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was at this moment Howard realized he’d never comforted anyone before. He had no siblings. No real close friends. He was not the person people came to when they were in need. He wasn’t sure what to do. So he whispered quiet nonsense in Vince’s ear. He smoothed Vince’s hair until it was soft. No longer stiff from day old hairspray. He rubbed Vince’s back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’d only been skimming on the surface. This was where real friendship was formed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s legs were trembling and so Howard slowly lowered both of them to the rocky ground, doing his best not to disturb Vince. Once they were settled one of Vince’s legs started bouncing uncontrollably. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pressed his face into the oppressive warmth of Howard’s shirt fogged with the condensation of his breath and tears. Something about the restricted breathing helped him get himself back under control. He kept his face buried in Howard’s chest until his face was hot and uncomfortable, holding off for or as long as possible so when he finally did turn his head to the side the cool breeze off the lake would sweep across his face, feeling like relief. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He kept holding onto Howard. And he hadn’t noticed that Howard had pulled him into his lap. Was kissing the crown of his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince focused on breathing normally. He was a bit scared to let go of Howard. What if Howard ran away? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard whispered in his ear. So soft and so kind. “Are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The question was so simply worded and so sincerely asked it almost sent Vince crying again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. He concentrated on his breathing some more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard seemed to know that Vince was working up to an answer so he didn’t ask again. Just traced shivery patterns down Vince’s back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He listened to the water lap at the shore. He thought he could tell Howard the truth. So, Vince whispered in a voice so small he could barely believe it came from him, “I’m not sure.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t pry. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, Vince pulled his face away from Howard’s chest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh no.”  He laughed and covered his mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Imprinted on Howard’s shirt was a  perfect face made of Vince’s smeared makeup. Mascara and kohl eyes. A purple lipstick mouth. Flawless foundation skin and high blush cheekbones.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince snickered. “It looks like Alice Cooper.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not funny sir. This shirt was 6 euros.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did it come in a four pack?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“As a matter of fact it did.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh Howard. What are we going to do with you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled up at Howard then some fundamental connection was made in his brain and he climbed to his feet. Accidentally ramming the top of his head into Howard’s lower jaw. Causing Howard’s teeth to clack together painfully. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rubbing his head, but not slowing down, Vince crawled over to the water.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince,” Howard said, rubbing his jaw, “what are you doing?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My makeup. Fuck. I must look a fright. Don’t look Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince splashed lakewater onto his face, washing away the smeary remains on his makeup. Along with the last of his tears.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When he was done he sat down next to Howard. He pulled his legs toward his chest, hooking around them with his arms. Resting his chin on his knees. He looked so young. Sat like that. With no makeup. Howard traced a finger up and down his back, studiously staying very far away from the gap of skin between the bottom of Vince’s t-shirt and the top of his trousers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tonight we’re brewing a love potion.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t say anything. Just kept tracing his finger up and down Vince’s back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“N’ I really hate love spells. See I-” Vince faltered. He’d thought maybe if he rushed at the conversation head on he might be able to get it out before his mind caught on to what he was up to and locked down again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He lapsed back into silence.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard combed his fingers through Vince’s hair. It made him feel safe. The back of his neck sparked in anticipation of Howard brushing it as he let the strands flow through his fingers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He appreciated that Howard hadn’t asked him anything beyond checking to see if he was okay. He wasn’t prying. He wasn’t satiating his curiosity. Or trying to be the big hero that would fix everything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had been alone such a very long time. He wanted so badly to talk with Howard. But he was also terrified. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had told him to never, ever, tell anyone who he really was. It was dangerous. People were not to be trusted. They would take advantage. They would ruin him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he knew Howard would never hurt him. Would never betray him. So what was he actually scared of? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t scared of Howard leaving. He wasn’t scared of Howard laughing. He wasn’t scared of Howard betraying him. He was scared of Howard knowing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he didn’t understand why that should be so scary. Why just Howard knowing was enough to make his breath short and his hands tremble. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What did just knowing do? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I trust you? Howard?” Vince asked. His voice choked and raw.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was taken aback by the question. It was so blunt. And Howard could tell Vince wasn’t joking. There was no smile in his eyes. He was asking a serious question. And if he didn’t receive a serious answer he was going to shut down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No flip “yes.” No smirking “no.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The enormity of it was making him nervous. He wanted Vince to trust him. Of course he did. But he didn’t know what he was taking on. He didn’t want to disappoint Vince. Howard didn’t kid himself that he was a strong person. He was scared of so much. He was scared he would tell Vince yes and then inevitably fail later. Because he always failed eventually. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he told Vince the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll do my best,” Howard said. He had a deep furrow in his brow that would grow permanent as he grew older. “I’ll do my best to make sure you can.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded, turning this answer over in his head.  He nodded slowly. Sighing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m going to tell you a story.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>First Interlude</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>ONCE UPON A TIME…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a girl named Fawn. She was funny and loud and she liked to talk with the animals and sing with the birds. She ran barefoot through the forest all day playing with her friends. The little wild thing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed. Until she grew up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her family was one of the wealthiest in Britain. But they had no respect. No legacy. They had risen from nothing. The ultimate embarrassment. She needed to find a husband. Someone suitable to bring honor to their house. But she refused to go out into the world to look for a husband. Preferring instead to converse with the mice in the barn and bees in the field. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a boy named Rene. And more than anything else he loved beauty. Each day he wandered from art museum to fashion house to jeweler, gazing at the night sky for hours on end, drinking in all the beauty the world had to offer. He loved art. He loved finery. And he loved his own face for he was very beautiful. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed. Until he grew up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was an embarrassment to have a boy who would rather preen in front of a mirror than call upon a lady. A boy who wept in front of paintings rather than learning to run the great estate he would someday be the master of. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His family was one of the oldest families in France. But they had a terrible secret. They were almost out of money. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was thought among the smarter members of their families that if the two were to make a match then all of their problems would be solved.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If he and she were to marry then everyone would get what they wanted. So it was agreed that they would marry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed. Until they met.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They hated each other. He found her rough and rude and she found his preening ridiculous. They each apologized to their families and said they would not, could not, marry the other. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was a terrible thing for the families as they’d already gotten used to the idea in their heads. In their minds they’d already spent the money and received the exclusive invites. The match had to be made. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They knew of a witch. A witch who didn’t much care what you wanted so long as you paid. And they asked him to brew a very special potion. A love potion. The most powerful love potion of them all. Love Potion No. 9. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They asked Fawn and Rene to meet one last time. Just to make sure. It was really the least they could do. Just to be sure there was no hope of a match.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The families almost followed the witch’s instructions perfectly. They poured half of the potion into Fawn’s cup. And half into Rene’s. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And wouldn’t you know. Perhaps Fawn and Rene had been a bit hasty. The animosity, just a cover for passion. Over the course of the evening they fell deeply. Madly. In love. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she no longer sang with the birds or chittered with the mice. Perhaps he  cut off his long beautiful hair and no longer stared at the sky drinking in beauty. So yes, perhaps they were a little less themselves but they had each other and that’s all that really mattered. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed. Until the child was born.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As I say. The families almost followed the witch’s instructions perfectly. Because the witch had told them no child could be produced of the union. Otherwise horrible consequences would follow. The family could not accept that there would be no heir. They did not warn the couple not to bear a child.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fawn and Rene were so excited for the baby to arrive.  There was talk of naming him after Rene’s father. Or Fawn’s brother, but they’d decided to wait until they could meet him properly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The baby arrived precisely on his due date. The last time he would ever be on time for anything his entire life. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The moment he took his first breath the spell was not broken, but took on a twisted new form. Fawn and Rene fell into instant hate. Couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Couldn’t stand to look at each other. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And when they looked at their child they felt...nothing.  All thought of naming him after his father or her brother was quickly forgotten. He had to be named after family. That was simply how things were done. So they named him Vince. After one of their distant forgotten relatives. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They wanted to get divorced. But their family said they had to stay together. For the child. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fawn went back to her fields. Singing with the birds. Never thinking to take the child with her. Even though he shared her gift. Rene returned to the fashion houses and museums. Never thinking to take the child with him though, even so young, the child loved beautiful things.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They did their best with the boy. But the consequences of the spell made it impossible for them to love him. He never wanted for anything. Toys. Food. Shelter. But there was never a kind word or a warm moment. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The witch had been dealing with some personal problems for a few years and did not know about the situation. That a child had been produced under the power of his love potion. When he got word he demanded immediately to see the family.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He railed at the family. Asking them if they knew what they’d done. The sort of life they had sentenced the child to. What sort of life they’d sentenced their own children to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The family was unmoved. Even venturing that the entire endeavor had been an unmitigated success and asking if the witch might brew some more of the potion for when the child came of age. When the witch refused they had him thrown out of the house. None of them knew that Fawn was listening. Or that she would tell Rene. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>One day the house was bustling with activity. A large party for Vince’s fifth birthday. Vince was excited because his nanny had told him there would be a magician with a rabbit. And he wanted to ask the rabbit where he went when the magician made him disappear. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His mother and father loaded him in the car. They took him to the zoo as a special birthday surprise while the party got set up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The family thought it was nice. Fawn and Rene finally settling into their roles as parents. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They showed Vince the lions and the penguins and the giraffes. He gasped at how pretty the peacocks were. How their feathers reminded him of his father’s beautiful coats and shirts. Though his father was very sharp with him whenever he tried to touch any of the finery. They bought him ice cream and chips and animal shaped sweets. Fawn didn’t smile when he spoke to the birds in the aviary. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince, oversugared and overstimulated, instantly fell asleep in the backseat as soon as the car hummed to life. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They drove and they drove and they drove. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They drove all the way to the village of Beron. Where the witch lived. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fawn stayed in the car. Her eyes were dry. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rene pulled Vince out of the car. Careful not to wake him. Freezing briefly as Vince snuffled into his shoulder. A tiny chubby fist curling around the lapel of his fine blue coat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He laid Vince on the witch’s doorstep. No blanket. No clothes. No note.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They could not pack any of his things. It would arouse suspicion. Or maybe they just didn’t think of it. Since they so rarely thought of him at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They drove away. Neither of them looking back. Once they reached the airport they never saw each other, their families, or their son ever again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Bryan had first told him the story it hadn’t included many details. Just a vague explanation whenever Vince asked where his mummy and daddy were and when was he going home? As he got older Bryan filled in more and more of the blanks. And when Vince was 11 he’d finally given him the whole story. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Vince tearfully asked if there was anything that could be done. Anything to actually break the spell that had gone so wrong. And Bryan eventually told him that if his parents ever found their true loves, and kissed them, then the spell would be broken.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And they would love me?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course monkey,” Bryan had said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince still sometimes daydreamed about either his mum or his dad finding their true love and coming back to find him right where they’d left him. And they’d all be together and happy forever. But it had never happened.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His dreams were occupied by his parents. But his nightmares were dominated by his grandparents. He lived in constant fear that they would find him and take him away from Bryan and give him a love potion and make him marry some horrible girl to further their own greed. Bryan assured him that would never happen. That he was protected. But he wasn’t so sure.  His grandparents, especially his grand-mere, had their ways. Even before Bryan told him what they’d done, Vince was scared of his grandparents. Especially his father’s mother, because he had seen that she was mean all the way down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once he’d been drawing with felt-tips on her white carpet. In his nightmares every room was covered in white carpet. No where was safe.  But he couldn’t remember if that was how it actually was or if he just remembered it that way. In any case he’d been drawing, and he’d gotten a bit overzealous and his felt-tip skipped off the page and onto the white carpet. Bright orange. Just seeing it he started crying because he knew he was going to be in TROUBLE. And he was right. She came over to see what he was crying about. Then she saw it and she threw away all of his art supplies. All his crayons and watercolor kits and felt-tips. She also threw away the picture he’d been drawing for her. A tiger. For the rest of the visit he was nearly crying with boredom because she wouldn’t let him use anything that would make “a mess.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince kept those less than magical details to himself. He liked the fairytale version better. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince finished telling Howard his story and gave Howard a shy little smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So Bryan raised me. As best he could. He’s a right prat at times but he weren’t anticipatin’ havin’ to raise up a kid like me. Just dumped on ‘is doorstep. But ‘e took me in and...that’s more n’ I can say for most people.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard lunged forward and threw his arms around Vince. Wrapping him in a hug so violent it nearly toppled them both over. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t imagine the pain Vince must feel. To know that neither of his parents ever loved him. Howard at least had his mother. And a few fond memories of his father when he was very small. Before the drink took hold. His father didn’t lay a hand on him until he was 10 or so. To just be given away. Just dumped on a doorstep. When you were old enough to remember your home. Howard blinked back a few tears. Vince didn’t need tears. He needed love. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sat up and pulled Vince into his lap. Vince sat with his head resting on Howard’s shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you for telling me,” Howard murmured into Vince’s ear.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They just sat for a bit. Eventually Vince couldn’t stand it anymore. Being so still and so quiet. He started to wiggle. Pressing secret smiles into his shoulder away from Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will you quit wigglin’? Howard asked. “You’re like a little monkey.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled. “I can’t help it! I ain’t never sat so still my whole life.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, but you weren’t sitting still.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was so! I was being well meditative.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never met someone as fidgety as you.” Howard poked his finger in Vince’s ribs. Vince wiggled away. Howard poked him again as if this just perfectly proved his point. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright!” Vince said. His voice going high. He tried to grab at Howard’s hand but Howard jerked his hand away. Vince lunged for it. Howard snaked an arm around Vince’s waist and wrestled him down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After a brief but valiant skirmish Howard had Vince pinned. As they’d both known he would. He was bigger. And Vince knew in this case losing would be the real victory. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Howard playfully straddled Vince. He had his hands wrapped around Vince’s wrists. His face hovering right above Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince tipped his eyes up at Howard and bit his lip in a way that nearly sent Howard insane. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stared into those blue eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There were a few flecks of mascara under Vince’s eye. Howard let go of Vince’s wrist and wiped them away. Vince did not attempt to move his arm. He was past being cheeky. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After Howard wiped the flecks out from under his eyes he lowered his hand to the ground to brace himself. He was very aware of Vince short fluttery breaths. Providing the hi-hat to Howard’s more bassy huffing breaths. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard could see Vince was waiting. Waiting for Howard to make the first move. He had to be sure this was something Howard actually wanted. All Howard had to do was lower his head down and kiss him. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s problem was that he always thought things through to their inevitable tragic conclusion. His mind threw up a hundred scenarios in which kissing Vince led to death and destruction and misery. He knew what he was doing wasn’t wrong. He knew that. But still the 8 inches from his lips to Vince’s may as well have been a million miles away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he smiled apologetically and climbed off of Vince. He saw Vince doing his best to hide his look of disappointment. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’ be,” Vince said. “I kinna didn’t give ya no choice the first time n’-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I liked it,” Howard said. “Really. I just uh-” Howard rubbed at his own face, with his eyes squeezed shut, turning all his frustration inward. Trying to find the nerve. And he does. “Can I take you on a date?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The disappointed face was wiped away instantly. Replaced by the sunniest smile Howard had ever seen. He noticed sometimes Vince hid his teeth a bit when he smiled, but there was no hiding in this smile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really?” Vince asked. Then to Howard’s surprise and delight he went bright red.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, sir,” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What you wanna take me to dinner? Or a film? There’s one with puppets that looked-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Actually,” Howard interjected, feeling more smooth than he ever had in his life, “I thought we might go to a party.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Genius! I ain’t never been to a…” Vince trailed off. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Was he really going to admit to Howard he’d never been to a party before? Even in primary school where there was a rule everyone had to invite everyone to their birthdays he was the exception for “religious reasons.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was occuring to him that it was probably well embarassin’. Never having been to a party before. He was going to have to start filtering what he said. He didn’t really get to talk to anyone besides Bryan who already knew everything. But he didn’t need Howard knowing every single little thing did he? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “I mean. I have. Just-” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve never been to a party,” Howard said. Not asking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘M not horribly popular around here,” Vince said. Which was a bit of an understatement. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Vince had come to live with Bryan there had been a bit of an uproar about allowing Vince into the school. None of them knew who he was. They thought he was just the witch's creepy relative. Or a foundling with evil powers. And Bryan let them think that. It was safer for them not to question where he’d come from. At the school there’d been meetings. And threatened legal action. And lots of bad feelings all around. But eventually Vince was allowed to attend school. Bryan was pleased with the victory. Vince didn’t see it as much of a victory at all. Fighting to be surrounded by people who hate you all day. He had trouble with school anyway and the teachers took every opportunity to point out his mistakes. The kids teased him for being thick. For not being able to spell. For bringing strange lunches. For being a witch. For dressing like a girl. For crying like a girl. For acting like a girl. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure they want me to come?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. The host was cool with it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who’s that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Didn’t catch his name, but he got me out of a jam.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sounds like an alright bloke.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can you come?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tonight?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince poked his tongue into the corner of his mouth. A nervous gesture that was already becoming quite dear to Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I dunno. Bryan ‘n I just had that massive row.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sneak out,” Howard said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Stunned.  “Wot?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You heard me,” Howard said. “Just sneak out.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just sneak out, who’re you, James Dean?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard actually had snuck out quite a lot. Both back home in Leeds and over the few weeks he’d been at his father’s. He would climb out the window and smoke behind his father’s shed. He had it down to an artform. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pretty much little man, they call me the rebel without a cause, chicka chicka,” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince knew a challenge when he heard one. He ran his tongue over his teeth as his lips pulled back in a cheeky grin. “Alright. Fine. We’ll meet here at 10. Yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well he said the party would be kicking off around 10 and we don’t want to be late so perhaps 9:30-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard. It’s called bein’ fashionably late.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you know this from your vast party experience?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince playfully sneered. “No. I know it ‘cause I got a lot of American VHS tapes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard rolled his eyes but agreed that they could meet at 10. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The aftereffects of the mixed potions finally seemed to wear off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince,” Howard said, before pausing to make sure another spike of pain wouldn’t jab through his skull. When no pain came he continued, “Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince smirked a bit. “Hi.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Bryan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile promptly dropped off Vince’s face. A reminder that they hadn’t spoken in twenty years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He died. ‘Bout fifteen years ago. Spell gone bad. Well nasty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So young. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. I’m so sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I’m alright. It was a long time ago,” Vince said. His face was cautious and guarded. In stark contrast to how animated he usually was. “Probably time for you to go yeah? Tha’s what you were doin’. Before I...assaulted you n’ all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was a mistake. I was being a coward. Like always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince hitched one corner of his mouth up in a half smile that dropped away as soon as he wasn’t concentrating on it anymore. He was avoiding making eye contact with Howard, which was supposed to be Howard’s move. Vince always moved into Howard’s line of vision. Always knew where to find it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was nice to see you again,” Vince said. His voice stiff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing good would come from this. He’d known that since the birds told him Howard had returned. But as always he’d been so swept up that he hadn’t thought it through. That was the problem. He never thought things through. It was why life could toss him around like a piece of driftwood. Because he never saw anything coming. He was constantly blindsided because he was too thick to see how things would play out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So maybe he’d play things out this time. Just this once. Let’s say he and Howard reconnected. Then what? They’d spend some time together. Then what? He’d fall for Howard again because he’d never stopped falling in twenty years. Then what? Howard would leave again. Then what? Vince would finally hit the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s time for you to go,” Vince said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard opened and closed his mouth a couple times. Looking like a demented guppy. Though no one was surprised by Vince’s words more than Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard took a few steps toward him and Vince backed away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard took another step forward. And again Vince backed away. Howard tried to reach for Vince’s hand but he jerked away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince please-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. You please,” Vince said. He could feel his face solidifying into cold ice. “You’re the one who keeps leavin’ yeah? I been right here. You knew exactly where to find me this whole time. And you never even tried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had tried. At least once he’d tried. Of course he’d been very drunk and didn’t remember what he’d said. But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>tried. And Howard had never even called him back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t. There were-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A thousand and one excuses right? Do you even know what happened after you left? Do you even care?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of the caged up hurt and resentment was burbling to the surface. At the worst possible moment. And as always Vince found himself getting carried away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I care. Vince, I swear-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince didn’t want to see the pain on Howard’s face. Didn’t want to feel how it mirrored his own. He’d gotten so good at pressing down the anger he felt with Howard that he’d nearly forgotten it was there. Had convinced himself that all he felt for Howard was longing. But that wasn’t true. The truth was-he was furious with Howard. For leaving. For not defending him. For never coming back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now here he was. After all this time. And all Vince could feel was furious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wotever Howard. Just leave. You had the right idea the first time. It ain’t gonna work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave!” Vince screamed. He told himself he was glad when the color drained from Howard’s face. “Get outta my house!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard still didn’t move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“GO!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard took a step toward the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should fight. He should beg. He’s right there. After all this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead. Howard did what he always did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Left without a fuss.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince cracked the door, just a smidge, to make sure Howard was really leaving. He watched Howard walk back down the lane and back towards town. It was only once Howard was completely out of sight that he burst into tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sank down in the middle of the floor. Covering his eyes with his hands like a little kid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was back. And had blown down everything in Vince’s life again. How was he supposed to go back to half hearted hookups with the townies when he knew how much a few wrinkles around the eyes made Howard’s eyes seem warmer and sweeter? How was he supposed to live with the loneliness when he knew Howard’s voice had deepened and strengthened to sound like deep forest honey? How was he not supposed to fall apart when Howard’s dark curls tumbled down to his collar, and he had a mustache, and he was big and broad and strong and the most beautiful person he’d ever seen? It had taken him 20 years to only think about Howard Moon every other second instead of every second and Howard was back and he was an idiot. He’d made Howard leave. He’d blown his chance. He was so fucking stupid. So stupid. Sometimes he hated how stupid he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Half of him wanted to tear down the lane and tell Howard he didn’t mean it. Please please come back. But the other half of him thought maybe just this once he should protect his heart. It was all taped together. Totally ramshackle. He didn’t think it could survive a stiff breeze anymore, let alone the nuclear blast of Howard Moon. Because he cared for Howard and he was fairly certain Howard cared for him too, but Howard would always be too scared to do what was necessary. And he was tired of always having to make the first move. Because he was still angry. So angry. He hadn’t even realized how angry until he’d seen Howard’s stupid beautiful face. He felt like he’d been robbed of the life he was supposed to have. With Howard. People might think it was ridiculous. No one found their soulmate at 16. Especially not someone like Vince. But he’d honestly thought he and Howard would stay together forever. But then Howard was gone. And everything else happened. And that was painful to be sure. But not as painful as the pure and simple fact that when it was all said and done he was all alone. Again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had been fine growing up in Beron. Sure, he didn’t have any friends. Or parents. Sure sometimes he cried at night when he was sure that no one could hear him but the owls. Sure he dreamt about finding someone special. To be his friend. To love him. He just wanted so badly for someone to love him. But he’d never known anything else. So he was still able to find joy. In sweets. In clothes. In chatting with the birds and the lizards. In Gary Numan and Stevie Nicks. But after he’d lost Howard nothing held much interest. Colors faded to black. Sweets turned to ash in his mouth. He couldn’t listen to any music at all without bursting into tears because it all reminded him of Howard. And what he’d lost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been such a wreck that Bryan didn’t even make him take his GSE’s.  If he saw Howard’s father coming down the street he would turn around and walk in the other direction. Howard’s father wasn’t the only one he had to hide from. All of the animals tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to talk to them so he barricaded himself in his room. He kept his curtains closed so he didn’t have to look at the birds tapping on his window. He jammed a towel into the gap under his door so none of the lizards could come in and skitter up his arms, asking what was wrong. He couldn’t answer. Because everything everything everything was wrong and it would never ever ever be right again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But eventually Vince had recovered. And if things never quite looked as sparkly as they used to...well that was growing up wasn’t it? Sometimes he still got overwhelmed with longing but that was what chocolate and Sandra Bullock were for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s legs always went trembly when he was crying. So he couldn’t stand up. He crawled over to the coffee table with all of his essentials still at the ready. His chocolates and face creams and distractions. None of them could help now. Only one thing could help now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince wrapped his fingers around the worn yellow plastic of his walkman. A walkman he’d had to enchant several times to keep in working order. He needed it. To listen to The Mixtape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sniffling, Vince settled the headphones over his ears. He sat on the floor with his back braced against the couch with his knees to his chest. His thumbed under both eyes to get rid of the worst of the smudged eyeliner. He rewound the tape and hit play.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little wheels spun in the walkman and Vince couldn’t help but smile. As he always did. When Howard’s tinny voice came through the headphones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard DJ Moon comin’ at ya like a beam, like a ray, like a laser. Spinnin’ only the platters that matter. First up we have Cars by Electroponce Gary Numan. Chicka chicka.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rested his head on his knees as the pulsing beat of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cars </span>
  </em>
  <span>overtook him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Next up we’re gonna slow things down with Runnin’ Up That Hill by national treasure Kate Bush. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aching pink tinged pop soaked into Vince’s bones. To him this song always sounded like longing. Yearning. Like being scared of not getting what you want, but even more scared that you would. Like watching your love walk away from you during the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen in your life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gone from the charts but not from our hearts here is I Wanna Hold Your Hand, by the Beatles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince laughed but it choked off into a sob as Paul and John and the rest sang so sweetly about wanting to hold hands. How lovely it would be. Palm to palm. Fingers interlaced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Mixtape was all raw potential. Promises of hand holding and kissing and love that weren’t kept. It had all ended so quickly that Vince was left with fantasies instead of memories. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he listened to the Mixtape, Vince’s anger seemed to melt away. He knew that it might make a return engagement but it was so hard to stay angry when young Howard’s voice was all around him like a blanket fresh out the dryer. He’d listened to the tape so many times he could practically quote it by heart. It was his ultimate comfort food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though now there was a new sting of pain when he heard Howard’s voice through the tinny speakers of his headphones. </span>
</p>
<p>2.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard paced around his room. Unsure what to do with his nervous energy until it was time to meet Vince for the party. He was going on a date with Vince. A real date. Officially. Should he bring Vince something? That’s what you usually did right? Was it different with two boys? Would Vince get offended if Howard brought him flowers or chocolates. Like he was assuming Vince was the girl? No. Vince wasn’t like that. He’d probably love a gift. He seemed like the kind of person who loved gifts. But chocolates and flowers. Not quite right. Vince needed something special. He deserved something special.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard remembered that Vince had told him he’d never received a mixtape. Not from a friend. Not from anyone interested in him. In all honesty it blew Howard’s mind that he was the “worldly” one. His bandmates back in Leeds always laughed at him for his inexperience and naivete. They said it was “cute” and “adorable” and “a bit pathetic but we love ya anyway Howard promise”, but there was so much Vince hadn’t experienced. Howard wanted to show him what a friendship could look like. Maybe Howard would see for himself as well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A mixtape. It was perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hauled out his tape recorder. He briefly considered just going straight from song to song with nothing in between, but he liked the idea of Vince hearing his voice when he wasn’t there. Like Vince would have a piece of Howard with him whenever he wanted. He knew that was probably rather cheesy, but he didn’t let that deter him. That was the amazing thing about Vince. He made Howard brave enough to follow through on what he wanted instead of deciding he was being  stupid and embarassing and not do anything at all. Vince wasn’t scared off by his dorkiness or awkwardness or sincerity. In fact he seemed to like all the parts of Howard that Howard so hated about himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was going to have to be the best mixtape of all time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard DJ Moon comin’ at ya like a beam, like a ray, like a laser. Spinnin’ only the platters that matter. First up we have Cars by Electroponce Gary Numan. Chicka chicka,” he murmured into the microphone. Doing his best DJ voice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had lent Howard a few of his records. To give him a “proper musical education” he claimed. So Howard was able to choose songs he knew Vince liked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t much for electro nonsense or glam generally. He listened to all genres. Felt it was his solemn duty as a musician to have a bit of knowledge of every genre. This helped immensely with the band. It was a fairly standard rock band. Tragically not a lot of jazz bands in Leeds. So he’d joined on as a guitarist and keyboardist because he figured being in a rock band was better than being in no band at all. They mostly played covers at weddings and parties. So he had a passing familiarity with most genres. But some genres were definitely superior to others. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jazz of course topped the list. Vince claimed to hate jazz, but Howard thought Vince just hadn’t found the right jazz yet. Vince thought jazz was elevator music. He didn’t understand the sensual power. The raw heartbreak. The transcendent love of good jazz. Howard intended to change that. He knew the perfect song to introduce Vince to the wonders of jazz. But he had to warm Vince up first. Electro. Pop. Rock. Then he’d hit him with the jazz. Pow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After he finished recording the Beatles song onto the tape he knew it was go time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Close your eyes Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could almost hear Vince giggling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now I mean it. Are they closed?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He paused as if allowing Vince to answer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good. Now this next song...I want you to keep an open mind. It’s jazz…quit your whingin’. You’re gonna like it. I promise. But you have to listen to the lyrics.  And listen to the whole thing. I’ll know if you don’t little man.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll know if you don’t little man.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince remembered how he’d blushed the first time he listened to the tape. His eyes heavy after staying up all night. The late morning sun streaming through his windows. After he’d finally made it home from the party. It had made him giggle when Howard guessed every one of his reactions perfectly. Knowing when he was laughing. Or being cheeky. Or following instructions. Trust Howard Moon to include instructions for the correct way to listen to the songs on the mixtape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Vince had played along then. As he played along now. Closing his eyes as Howard commanded. As always with a smile tugging at his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soft piano. Fingers tripping over keys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whenever it's early twilight</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I watch 'til a star breaks through</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, it's not a star I see</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's always you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This song. This was always the song that killed him. He could hear Howard in the piano and the lyrics and the trumpet. Every note ached with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wherever you are, you're near me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You dare me to be untrue</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, each time I fall in love</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's always you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>4.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After the song finished Howard didn’t speak again right away. Recording the song for Vince. It felt like he was hearing it for the first time. The music was more beautiful. Chet Baker’s voice was softer. The lyrics were sweeter. Something.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard held the microphone up very close to his mouth. Making his voice deeper. More resonant. More intimate.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“There. That wasn’t so bad was it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>5.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. Not so bad at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince took a few steadying breaths. He was not built for sadness. It wasn’t in his nature to stay sad for long. He was not going to turn into a tear stain on the floor. He was going to get ready. He was going to go out. He was going to get drunk. And he was going to dance until he forgot all about Howard Moon or his feet fell off. Whichever came first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard felt like he was floating. But not in a happy buoyant way. More untethered. Unstable. As if he was on a kite string and there was a storm brewing and he was going to be dashed into some trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His feet didn’t feel like they were in communication with his brain. He kept stumbling over nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he might actually be sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind kept going back to Vince’s hesitant little smile when he’d first opened the door. That Vince would have let him in. That Vince would have welcomed him back. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Howard had ruined it with his cowardice. All he had to do was meet Vince halfway. Why did he always expect Vince to make the first move? There was no one to blame now. Not his father. Not the people in this shit town. No one but himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been walking for hours. After he’d reached town he’d simply circled. He thought maybe his feet should hurt. His legs should be tired. But he didn’t notice. All was secondary to the pain in his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day was languorously winding down. Pink settled in a haze turning everything dreamlike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard decided he was going to get very drunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>6.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince picked at his eggplant lasagna. He cringed as he accidentally scraped his fork across his plate, setting his teeth on edge.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan hadn’t said anything since Vince returned from the lake after their massive row. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’d never fought like this before. There had been some minor disagreements and a rather memorable episode when he’d been thirteen but for the most part they got on very well. Bryan was mostly content to leave Vince to his own devices and Vince was content to do the same for Bryan. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on. If they were just going to walk on eggshells around each other forever. He didn’t think he could bear it. Bryan was his only family. He was certainly more of a father to Vince than Vince’s actual father ever had been.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t really have very many memories of his parents. Good or bad. He loved them in the simple way a five year old will always love his mum and dad and he knew that their inability to love him wasn’t really their fault. It was just a side effect of the spell. It was why he couldn’t understand why Bryan still sold love spells. When he lived with the personification of the damage they could do. When he made sure the damage brushed its teeth and went to bed on time and ate its vegetables. When he had bandaged the damage’s scraped knee and hugged the damage when the kids at school were mean. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How on earth could Bryan justify love spells when he saw what they had done to Vince? What they’d done to his mum and dad and who knows how many others. Vince was certain he couldn’t be the first child to be born of a love spell nor the last. Just because Bryan didn’t sell Love Potion No. 9 anymore didn’t mean that the other love spells couldn’t do plenty of harm. And he wasn’t going to be a part of it. Not anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bryan?” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan looked up from his plate. “Yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince chewed on his lower lip. This was a Mature™ conversation and he didn’t want to muck it up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not going to help with love spells anymore.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan sat his fork down on the table with a curt snap. “Vince. We talked about this.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not bein’ a brat!” Vince said, then took a deep breath. If this was going to have any chance of getting through to Bryan he had to be calm. “I think it’s wrong. People can’t control themselves. It messes with free will. An’ that jus’ isn’t right. So I won’t ask you to stop sellin’ em. But I will not help.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He thought about crossing his arms but thought that might come off as babyish, so he just sat very still.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a long pause.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ok,” Bryan finally said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really?” Vince said, brightening instantly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think you’re right. It’s not fair to ask you to help. So ok.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Genius!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had gone better than he ever could have imagined. So he decided to take a bit of a gamble. He was an optimist after all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard invited me to a party tonight.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan rolled his eyes. “Uh huh.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I ain’t never been invited to a party before.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh huh.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I wanna go. But I don’ wanna lie to you. Can I please go?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. Sometimes you amaze me,” Bryan said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled nervously. “In a good way?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sometimes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I go? Please Bryan?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not sure, tomorrow I have to take the batch of Stray to the next brewing point for the second stage.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll come home before you leave. I promise!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan snorted, then finally said. “Fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shot out of his chair and wrapped his arms around Bryan. Bryan raised one arm and patted Vince’s shoulder, a soft smile curling across his face once he was sure Vince couldn’t see. Hugs from Vince were becoming a relative rarity as he got older. When Vince had been small Bryan could hardly move because Vince almost always had his arms wrapped around his waist. His face pressed into Bryan’s stomach. It had taken 3 teachers to pry Vince off of Bryan on his first day of school. He hadn’t realized he would miss the hugs until they were gone.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While Vince had his face pressed to Bryan’s shoulder he said, “Also I was thinkin’-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t push it,” Bryan growled. He could feel Vince’s cheeky grin rather than see it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks Bryan,” Vince said. He gave Bryan one last tremendous squeeze before letting go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He stood in front of Bryan. Nearly vibrating with excitement. Bryan could see it was taking all of his willpower not to be jumping up and down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Take Elisha. Just in case.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded eagerly.  “I gotta go get ready.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan smiled and jerked his head, excusing Vince to go get ready.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t help but laugh as he heard Friday I’m In Love by the Cure blast through the door. He could hear Vince singing along and knew from witnessing it many times that Vince was dancing and jumping up and down. It would take three or four songs for him to calm down enough to sit down and do his makeup. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>8.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was only one pub in town. The Wayward Vicar. Where his father and his friends drank. Howard wasn’t sure if he was mentally or emotionally prepared to get drunk surrounded by reminders of his father, but he was sure that it would be a very bad idea for him to drink alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no hope that they wouldn’t recognize him. He looked almost exactly like his father. When he was very very small he had beamed whenever anyone told him he looked like his father. To him it was the highest honor. Because to little boys all fathers are heroes. As he got older the pleasure drained from the words and he internally cringed whenever he heard them. It was part of the reason he’d grown a mustache and allowed his hair to get a bit long. His father had always been brutally clean cut. Any amount of distance he could get. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he bellied up to the bar and ordered a scotch. Before he could even reach for his wallet the bartender told him the drink had already been paid for then gestured down the bar. Howard looked down to see some aged face he could almost recognize lift his glass and knew it was one of his dad’s mates. He raised his glass in return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard scanned the bar quickly. It wasn’t packed, but it was bustling. It was only old timers though Howard did recognize one person who was about his age. Jean Claude Jacquettie, sitting in the corner, sipping a whiskey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several other men bought him drinks. Sometimes they would walk over and tell him how much they liked the old man. Sometimes they just raised their glass. Howard’s plan of getting drunk was going incredibly well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered if any of these old men would still buy him a drink if they knew he wasn’t mourning his father, rather that he was pining after the witch in the woods. Probably not. After that Howard took almost savage pleasure in the drinks they bought him. That he was taking something from them. As they had taken something from him long ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind of course ran to Vince every moment it was unsupervised. He wished he wasn’t such a coward. That he could explain to Vince what had happened. What had really happened. That he could tell Vince he loved him. That he’d always loved him and no one else and then let Vince decide. He knew it was unlikely that Vince would be with him, after all these years, but he so desperately wanted to try. But he was too scared. See, as long as he didn’t tell Vince, as long as that door of possibility wasn’t closed by Vince forever, he had the thinnest sliver, the tiniest glitter of hope. If he told Vince. And Vince said no. Then he would be wrecked. There would be no recovery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So even though he could have come sooner, he could have written, could have returned that phone call, could have tried, once he no longer feared his father, once he was grown, there were so many times he could have tried, but he never did because he was scared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even now there was the faintest glimmer of hope. Because he hadn’t told the truth. As long as he kept his secrets there was hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>9.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was able to sneak out of the house quite easily. He had a good ear so he’d been able to memorize every telltale creak and squeak that would give him away in the dead of the night within hours of arriving at his father’s house that first day. Though truth be told he probably didn’t need to bother. His father was out like a light by 9 and wouldn’t stir again until he woke up at 5am for work during the week or 7am for sport on the weekends. He left early. Just because they were going to be fashionably late to the party didn’t mean he couldn’t be fashionably early to meeting Vince. He triple checked that he still had the mixtape in his pocket. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He smoked as he walked. Vince claimed he liked the smell of the smoke. This was quite surprising to Howard as everyone else he met despised it. But Vince would bury his nose in Howard’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Howard put this squarely in the Vince Probably Likes Me column. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He took the long way round to Vince’s home, sticking to the outskirts of town instead of cutting through Main street. His dad’s mates frequented the Wayward Vicar and he didn’t want them mentioning to his dad that they saw his boy “and ‘ad a right pleasant natter.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He walked down the lane and turned off down a trail that led to the lake.  It was a placid flat disk. Nary a ripple to spoil the perfect reflection of the purple sky above. The first stars winking into view. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water at the pebbled shore and loons crying from very far away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard skipped rocks while he waited. Sending them skidding across the water and watching the full moon ripple. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>By 10:10 he was getting a bit annoyed. Where was Vince? How long could it possibly take to get ready? By 10:30 he was getting worried. Had he gotten caught? Was he in trouble? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was about to walk up the trail to Vince’s cottage and see if he could eavesdrop to see what had happened when he heard footsteps on the trail and knew Vince was coming. His fear shifted back into annoyance. He’d been waiting an hour, but he had to remind himself that only half of that time was Vince’s fault. In any case, he prepared to deliver a lecture on the importance of punctuality as soon as Vince came into view. But when he caught sight of Vince all lectures died on his lips. Vince could take as long as he wanted. As long as he needed to look like THAT.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked beautiful. He wore a black slip dress over a plain white t-shirt. And fishnet tights. He wore platform mary-janes with bobby socks. And a black choker. With every step he jingled because of all the bracelets and bangles he wore. Winking in the bright moonlight. Giving him sparkle. He wore black lipstick and he’d done his makeup so it ticked up at the corners of his eyes. Cat’s eye, Howard thought. Vince had explained it to him once, but he’d found it a little hard to concentrate on Vince’s words because Vince had been putting on lipgloss at the same time he was talking and it was immensely distracting. He’d put glitter on his eyelids and wore the softest of pink blushes. Howard was absolutely certain Vince’s hair was longer than it had been that afternoon. Then he remembered that one of Bryan’s best sellers was a hair growth potion. And of course Vince  would love to be able to experiment with no fear of repercussions. It fell a bit past his shoulders and he’d backcombed the top, but just a bit. When he spotted Howard he broke into a large toothy grin.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard dropped the rock he’d been holding directly onto his own foot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard looked beautiful. He wore a red checked shirt over a Charles Mingus t-shirt he’d clearly made himself but was rather punk rock in its own jazzy way, with cords and trainers. Miracle upon miracles it was a coherent outfit. His hair was still a bit wet from the shower. When he saw Vince his eyes squinched up to almost nothing. The bright moonlight reflected off the lake casting Howard’s face into sharp relief, highlighting the strength and handsomeness of his profile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had been so focused on making his entrance that Howard’s beauty caught him off guard. Blindsided him. He stopped in his tracks. Just staring at Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And Howard was staring right back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He really had to concentrate on not licking his lips and smearing his lipstick. It had taken him a long time to apply just right and he had other plans for how it would get smeared.  Preferably on Howard’s neck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince snapped out of his reverie when Howard dropped a rock on his foot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ow!” Howard yelled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shuffled forward.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright Howard?” He said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Just. Foot,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh this was going great.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Foot. Fan-bloody-tastic.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God he loved him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The thought popped up unbidden. Out of nowhere. So fondly felt and sincerely meant that he had no way of stopping it. There was no build. One moment nothing. The next. I love him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The thought was too big. It pushed all other thoughts out of Vince’s head like a massive pink balloon as it inflated to fill his brain pan. Big pink balloons in the shape of letters that spelled out love. Too big. Too happy. Too much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince started giggling. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’re you laughin’ at little man?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You. You make me laugh.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sure. Laugh at another man’s misfortune,” Howard said. He sat down on the ground and massaged his foot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Want me ta do that?” Vince asked, stepping toward Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No!” Howard squawked. He cleared his throat and his voice was several octaves lower. “No. That’s quite alright Vince. I’m a man of action and so a simple thing like a crushed foot is no concern of mine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince reached out and helped Howard to his feet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard needed to get back on solid ground. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What time do you call this then?” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“10-ish,” Vince said, avoiding Howard’s eyes like a schoolboy caught lying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“10-ish? 10-ish?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Look Howard. Perfection takes time.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And this is perfection is it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Plenty close. This look is basically a work of art.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The look was a work of art; this was true. But was nothing compared to the person wearing it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hoped Howard wasn’t actually cross.  He’d gotten ready as fast as he could. But the first 2 times he’d cut his hair it’d been a total cockup and so he had to take two doses of the hair growth potion AND touch up his roots when he was done. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he’d had a minor existential crisis when he realized he had absolutely nothing to wear. He’d tearfully told Bryan that all his clothes were rubbish and could they please please please conjure a portal to Topshop, Bryan respected the importance of fashion, being quite the sharp dresser himself, but he was not going to use magic to rob Topshop, he would, however, sit through a three outfit fashion show to narrow down the look. Vince had tried to negotiate for five. But finally agreed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After all that it was a minor miracle he’d made it out of there before 11. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry Howard. The hair muse. She wouldn’t let me go until it was perfect.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s alright little man. Just had to give you a hard time.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They walked back into town.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They walked so close together his and Vince’s hands kept bumping as their arms swung. He thought about grabbing Vince’s hand but his ears burned in the dark. So he didn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A hawk circled them overhead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is that hawk following us?” Howard asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh. Yeah. Elisha. Bryan asked me to bring her along. Just in case.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just in case what?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled nervily. “Just in case.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard led them to the address of the party. The large house fairly pulsed with music and light. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince started up the footpath but Howard hung back. In all his excitement over going on a date with Vince he hadn’t really considered the reality of the party itself. He didn’t like parties generally. He’d been so swept up in the excitement of having somewhere halfway decent to take Vince on their first date that he’d managed to completely forget that the party would be public. That someone might know his father. And tell him what his boy had been up to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince came back to him and grabbed his hand. “It’ll be great Howard. I promise. We’ll stick together yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard Moon was trying his best to be brave. It was an ever evolving process. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They opened the door and stepped inside. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could feel the thrumming bass in his heart. It was like he was breathing in all of the energy from the people inside. He loved being around people and didn’t get to be around them as much as he liked, but he’d never been positively high off of it before. He thought it must be the combination of the people, the music, and of course Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He decided at that moment he loved parties and would like to go to many more. Preferably with Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard craned his neck. “I don’t see the host anywhere. We can say hello later. I can figure out his name.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard and Vince went to the kitchen to find drinks. Vince hopped on the counter while Howard dug through a sink full of ice and drinks. Howard opened a bottle of beer and gave it to Vince.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince took one sip and then wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Ugh. That’s awful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled at this. “Give it here then.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince handed the beer back. There was a smudge of Vince’s black lipstick on the mouth of the bottle. Howard took a large swig. Then shoved it back in Vince’s hands.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hold that for me,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>People were staring. Whispering. Howard didn’t seem to notice and as long as that was the case the rest could go hang. This was his first party and he was going to have as much fun as humanly possible. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard dug through the ice. Finding him a better drink. Who would have known beer would be so awful? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Howard handed him a pink something in a clear bottle. In Vince’s experience pink foods were generally a safe bet. Grapefruit soda. Bubblegum. Pink cupcakes. Strawberry bootlaces. Watermelon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Try this.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince twisted off the lid and sipped it. Strawberry alcopop. Sweet as candy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled. “Thanks Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not a problem.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sipped his drink and eyed the crowd. He wished that he could honestly say the only thing that was making him nervous was being on a date (a date a date A DATE!) with Howard. But he’d be lying. He saw a lot of familiar faces at this party and that unnerved him. He knew those familiar faces could turn hostile in an instant. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Part of him wondered if he’d been right to come. He’d been so swept up, always swept up, that he hadn’t stopped to think that just because the host was okay with his presence didn’t mean he was actually safe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He took another sip of his drink and gave himself a pep talk. Everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad was going to happen. He was here to have fun. This was his first date with Howard and he was not going to ruin it by being scared. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The song changed. To something bouncy and 80’s. Vince whipped his head in the music’s general direction. “Oh! I love this song. Can we go dance?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was already tugging Howard toward the makeshift dance floor in the family room. He took their drinks and sat them on an end table. And pulled on Howard’s hand again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hesitated. Suddenly overcome with self consciousness. It wasn’t that he was a bad dancer. A lot of people just didn’t get his moves. But then he saw Vince’s eager face. And the sour looks of jealousy on several people’s faces. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And Howard finally realized something. Vince was the most beautiful person in the room and it wasn’t even close. He was funny and kind and utterly strange. He had daft opinions on everything under the sun. Even things he knew nothing about. Especially things he knew nothing about. He seemed to subsist on sweets alone and was always buzzing with sugar. He was bad at spelling and had the strangest laugh. He remembered the name of every single one of the hundreds of animals he seemed to know personally. He was the only person Howard knew with dance moves more ridiculous than his own and he never ever missed a chance to show them off while they were trading music back and forth in Vince’s room. And every move had a name. Scissors. Pencil. Side panel of a tractor. There was always a bit of sewing sitting on the table next to Vince’s bed as if he fell asleep sewing like Howard did reading. He cut his own hair and sometimes it showed but he was fearless in his quest for hair enlightenment. He was just...brilliant. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The reality finally broke through. He had nothing to be self conscious about. Vince Noir could have anyone in that room. Anyone he wanted. And he had chosen Howard TJ Moon. So Howard followed Vince onto the dance floor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>10.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was on his fifth or sixth scotch when he felt his hair ruffle from the breeze of the door to the pub opening. He turned around with dim curiosity to see who had arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if he had conjured him. Vince. Looking like a gothic prince. His hair teased to perfection. He wore a black ruffled shirt and a very tight red velvet blazer. His makeup was simple but perfectly highlighted his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he and Vince made eye contact Vince froze for a moment, before pointedly glancing away from Howard and marching over to the opposite end of the bar. His mouth knit in a tight line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old timers grumbled and eyed Vince as if he were a suspected serial killer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince tried a few times to get the bartender’s attention but the barman ignored him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard emptied his scotch. Deciding a little liquid courage was in order before he tried to go over and talk to Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without being asked, the barman poured Howard another drink and continuously ignored Vince’s attempts to get his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi mate! I know you can see me,” Vince said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be with you in a moment ma’am,” the bartender said sarcastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few of the old timers chuckled into their cups.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard pointed at Vince and told the barman “Whatever he wants. Put it on my tab.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barman gave him a fairly nasty look, but then quickly mixed Vince some sort of bright pink drink. He slid it to Vince and half of it sloshed onto the bar. Vince downed it and gestured for another. The bartender slid his gaze to Howard, Howard nodded and the bartender fixed Vince another drink, which he also downed. The bartender made him a third.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stood up to go and talk to Vince. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say but he had to say something. Apologize. Just anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But before he could say anything Vince downed this drink as well, pulled some money from his pocket, laid it on the bar, and walked out onto the dance floor, which was in reality just a spot near the jukebox that had been cleared of tables and chairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid his hand on the jukebox, he glanced around to make sure the bartender wasn’t watching, then he murmured a few words under his breath and the jukebox started playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>I Love Rock and Roll</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Joan Jett even though he hadn't put in any quarters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dance floor was completely empty except for Vince. He started rolling his hips in the most maddening way, reaching up, brushing his hair off his neck, then trailing his hands down his chest, all with his eyes closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After several seconds Howard realized he’d been staring. He glanced away and found he was not the only one. Though he was the only one who was enraptured, the other people watching him were glaring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince kept moving to the music. Strutting around the little dance area, perfectly in rhythm. And as the song hit the chorus he abandoned the sexy moves and lapsed back into the moves Howard remembered from when they were kids. The pencil. The scissors. The side panel of a tractor. Instead of the sexy pout he’d been wearing as the song started there was now a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes were still closed. Lost as he was in the music. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The song ended and Vince simply pointed at the jukebox and murmured under his breath again and this time </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brown Sugar </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the Rolling Stones started to play. Vince danced in a perfect impression of Mick Jagger. Every gesture and head bob was pristine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were a few mocking wolf whistles, a few calls of”Heeeeeey beautiful,” but Vince ignored them. He kept dancing. Though he’d stopped smiling, he clenched his jaw, giving it a defiant jut.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the song wound down one of the oldtimers climbed down off his stool. He clipped Vince as he made his way over to the jukebox. Vince stumbled a bit, but mostly ignored him. He popped in a few quarters and selected a Doris Day song. He shot an elbow into Vince’s ribs as he walked past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard started to stand up, to do what he wasn’t sure. But then Vince locked eyes with him. The first time he’d acknowledged his presence since he’d first walked in, and gave him a firm head shake. So Howard sank back down. Across the room he also saw Jean Claude sitting down. Howard curled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, anxiety creeping up his spine as he waited for whatever was going to happen next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince knew he should just leave. He was tempting fate. He’d been beat up after a night out enough times to know when the energy in the room was turning from mere annoyance to hatred. When the comments stopped being pointed and became cruel. When the locals would start exchanging knowing glances and three or four men would leave at the same time. That’s when he knew they’d be waiting for him. Waiting for him to leave. So they could jump him as he scurry scurry scurried home, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed and missing when they pop out in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he should just go now. It would be the smart thing. The reasonable thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His ribs hurt from where that old bastard jabbed him. The tension was so thick in the air he could smell it. Like scorched wiring and testosterone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were aching for a fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he was aching for one as well. He was just so tired. Tired of how the only reprieve from being ignored was being glared and sneered at. Tired of being followed by whispers. Tired of getting jumped and drowned and hit with rocks and left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bryan had told him that the only way to keep him safe from his family was for him to never leave this town. And he’d listened. He’d never left the village exclusively populated by people who hated him for more than 30 years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone wanted him to go. To leave. To leave their town. To leave their store. Their restaurant. Their presence. This bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he was not. Fucking. Leaving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead he pointed at the jukebox and murmured the words to a very useful spell he’d picked up the last time Naboo came to visit and muted the Godawful Doris Day song that had been playing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was replaced with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Venus in Furs </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the Velvet Underground. He loved this song. Mellow but sinister. It had a way of winding its way into his mind and burrowing there like a hypnotic snake. He felt the rolling slinking rhythm take over his body and pull his eyes closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard found he could barely breathe. The tension was nearly intolerable. Something bad was going to happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to scream at Vince. Just go! Leave! Whatever the hell you’re doing right now, is it worth all this? To put yourself in danger this way? Just go home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t his place. Vince had made it clear that his help was not welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>11.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince jumped up and down, no longer able to contain his excitement. Howard followed suit and they jumped up and down in time to the music.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was genius! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard kept making goofy faces at Vince as they danced. Waggling his eyebrows. Shifting into a lupine grin. Flaring his nostrils. And Vince giggled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had quite casually swiped a spell from the sale rack. Something special for his and Howard’s first date. He hoped Howard liked it. That he didn’t think it was stupid. Or childish. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince leaned in and murmured in Howard’s ear, “I wanna try somethin’ alright?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The vibrations from Vince’s voice sent a shiver down Howard’s back. Then he nodded his assent.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince held out some purple powder. He leaned down and blew the powder in Howard’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Some of it got in Howard’s eye. He wrinkled his nose and blinked one eye rapidly finally clearing the powder from his eyeball. “Thanks Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard resisted the urge to wipe the powder off his face. It took a lot of concentration. He hated feeling untidy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince handed Howard a tiny vial of purple dust. “Now you do me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince closed his eyes. Howard shook some of the powder into his hand and blew it into Vince’s face. Vince fluttered his eyes open and grinned at Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t sure about that grin. It was a bit mischievous and he realized he probably should have asked what it was Vince wanted to “try”, but now it was too late.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince grabbed Howard’s hand and placed it squarely on his hip. He did the same with Howard’s other hand. Then he put his own hands on Howard’s shoulders.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Safety precautions,” Vince explained.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded in response though he had no idea what Vince had said because he was too focused on the feel of Vince’s hips through the dress material. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince jumped in time to the beat of the song and Howard jumped as well. But they didn’t come down right away. They gently floated to the ground. When they touched down they jumped again and the same thing happened. They came down several seconds after everyone else.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook the empty vial. “Fairy dust.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well that’s what we call it,” Vince said. “It’s mostly dehydrated bubbles and newt-” He recalled the mixture was currently coating Howard’s face as well as his own. “Nevermind.” Vince was used to some of the more unsavory ingredients of potions and beauty products. With snail masks and the like. But Howard might not be ready for newt mucus. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fairy dust wasn’t strong enough to make someone fly. But it did provide a nice bouncy castle sort of feeling. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had to concentrate on not gasping everytime Howard’s long fingers slid with the material of his dress. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The song ended and Howard was disappointed but then when the new song began Vince brightened and said. “I love this one too.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard playfully frowned. “Very well.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was a slow one. Howard pulled Vince much closer. Vince gasped as their bodies made contact and then smiled up at him. His eyes bright and happy. Howard changed their grips so that he was holding one of Vince’s hands while the other was on his hip and Vince’s other hand was on his shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard pushed off from the floor and they slowly rose in the air and then gently spiraled back down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No one had ever done anything like this for him before. It wasn’t just that Vince had used literal magic to make their night special. It was that he’d thought of Howard at all.  The very act of thinking of him; the miracle. He often thought that as soon as he was out of vicinity all thought and memory of him was instantly erased from people’s minds. Like every time he spoke with someone he had to start all over with them. So no one thought of him enough to want to do anything special for him. Except for Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince laid his head on Howard’s shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard brought Vince’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingertips. Getting a closeup view of Vince’s chipped black varnish. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The softest sweetest smile curled across Vince’s face, made all the more vulnerable because his eyes were closed and Howard felt privileged to see it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stroked the small of Vince’s back with his thumb and he thought he heard Vince sigh contentedly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As they rose and slowly fell Vince noted a few people staring. Some merely looked fascinated. Others wore small mean suspicious looks. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the music.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They danced like that for the rest of the song. Gently swaying back and forth and every once in a while lifting gently off the ground and slowly floating back down. As the song finished every time they took off they got a bit less height. Until they didn’t get off the ground at all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Doesn’t last long,” Vince said, “but nice right?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I loved it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They still hadn’t let go of each other. Hadn’t stopped swaying even though the music had sped back up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard reached up and brushed a few strands of Vince’s long hair behind his ear.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked up at him. His eyes looked impossibly large. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was the moment. He doubted he’d get a better one. He leaned down to kiss Vince and Vince rose to meet him but before their lips could touch he heard a booming voice come from behind him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Moon! So glad you decided to come. And you brought little Noir. How wonderful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard turned around to face the voice. Vince didn’t need to. He would know that voice anywhere. He’d heard it many times before. He’d had no idea this was his house. They’d only ever met in the woods or-Vince backed off from the thought quickly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He felt sick. He should have known. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But maybe he could still keep Howard from finding out. If he did everything right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He turned around to follow Howard toward the owner of the voice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was the older boy. The one who had invited him to the party.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I never got your name.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The older boy let out a loud booming laugh. “Yes of course. Bainbridge. Dixon Bainbridge.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s hand snaked into Howard’s other hand. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is Vince Noir,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh. Vince and I know each other very well. Don’t we Vince?” Dixon said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded numbly. Maybe Bainbridge would leave it at that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard looked confused. “Oh. You do?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge leered at Vince. “Vince was a few years behind me in school. Followed me around like a duckling didn’t you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded again. His cheeks burned. It wasn’t true. What Bainbridge was saying. But it was better than the truth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t remember Vince ever mentioning the name Dixon Bainbridge. He felt sure he would remember. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked a bit strange. Nervous. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge reached over to the end table and handed Vince and Howard their drinks. “Enjoy the party.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince drank half of his drink in one go. Bainbridge smiled at that for some reason and then walked away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As they circulated through the party Vince, gripped his arm, but it didn’t seem romantic or flirty, more like he was holding onto Howard for support. And he’d gone very quiet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wasn’t sure whether he should ask Vince about Bainbridge. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t brought him up. Maybe they’d been together. Howard brushed this idea off as absurd. Vince would have been 12 or 13 when Bainbridge was 18. Maybe he was just embarrassed by what Bainbridge had said. He didn’t want Howard to know. But he couldn’t figure out why.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He needed to relax. If he didn’t stop being weird Howard was going to start asking questions and he really didn’t want that. He didn’t want to explain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Vince led Howard back to the kitchen, draining his alcopop as he walked so that by the time they reached the sink filled with ice he was ready for another one. Howard was still only about a third of the way through his beer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince opened another alcopop, blue this time, and drank heavily from it. He’d never drank before but he thought he could definitely get on board.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Woah, hey there little man, night’s young right?” Howard smiled nervously at him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Without knowing why, Vince drank the entire bottle while making direct eye contact with Howard. A challenge. And maybe a rebuke. As in: don’t tell me what to do. He grabbed another bottle and grabbed Howard roughly by the arm. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had never wanted to shy away from Vince’s touch before, but the way Vince grabbed him made him uncomfortable. Before, when Vince had touched him it had been loaded with affection, now it felt like Vince was trying to take control of him.  Was hauling him around. But he didn’t jerk away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t understand why Vince was acting this way. Was he mad at him? Had he done something wrong? He had to get things back on track.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you, um, want to dance some more?” Howard asked. He wanted to close his eyes at the sight of Vince’s hard edged face with his downturned eyebrows.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince softened a bit then nodded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They went back out to the dancefloor but their rhythm was all off. Howard kept stepping on Vince’s feet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry,” Howard said for the 11th time as he stepped on Vince’s feet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard! You don’t have to apologize every time. I swear it’s alright,” Vince said, sounding irritated.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right. Sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>12.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard desperately wanted another drink. Something. Anything to relieve the unbearable tension that filled the bar. By this point almost everyone in the pub was watching Vince. Waiting to see what would happen next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The same old timer as before, the Doris Day fan, stood up, stalked over by the jukebox and ripped the plug out of the wall. He threw the plug on the floor and stomped back to his seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince, for the first time acknowledging any of this was happening rather than pointedly ignoring it, stared directly at the old timer who was smirking and accepting back pats from his mates with the equanimity of a star athlete who’d just scored a point in a game that was a foregone conclusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without breaking eye contact with the old timer Vince pointed one hand behind him at the jukebox. The jukebox lit back up and started to play again. The Velvet Underground was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Replaced by the menacing warble of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I put a spell on you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because, you’re mine</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few men rose from their stools. They didn’t go for Vince. They simply positioned themselves around the dance floor. Penning him in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude stood and Howard was sure he would join the other men, but instead he walked to the door and left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You better stop the things you do</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I tell ya I ain't lyin'</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I ain't lyin'</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s gaze shifted from man to man. Staring at them. Daring them to make their move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You know I can't stand it</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You're runnin' around</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The men crowded a bit closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want a dance, then it’d be better if you queued up instead a’ standin’ around in a gaggle,” Vince said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t want no foockin’ dance faggot,” one of the men, this one in an olive green polo, said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shame. You were the one I fancied the most,” Vince said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You know better daddy</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't stand it 'cause you put me down</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green Polo pushed Vince. Vince stumbled into another man. This one with an intense overbite. Overbite grabbed Vince by the hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince cried out, but then directed an elbow into Overbite’s podgy stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I put a spell on you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you're mine</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Overbite hunched over, letting go of Vince’s hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard turned to the barman. “Aren’t you going to do something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barman shrugged. He was watching the action with a smug smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard started to rise.  This had already gone on too long. He’d thought Vince’s attention would be fully absorbed by his assailants but the second Howard moved he whipped his head around. Pointed at Howard and said “Don’t you get up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard froze in a bit of an awkward crouching position before straightening up. He crossed his arms. Tapping his foot nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You know I love you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you anyhow</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I don't care if you don't want me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm yours right now</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked from man to man, his posture sank. Going more feline. Dangerous. Like a cornered jungle cat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on then,” Vince said. His voice low. “Do it then, if you’re gonna do it then just fuckin’ do it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one moved. Perhaps they’d witnessed the shift as well. But their fear wouldn’t hold them back long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so bored of all a’ ya. You want ‘a hurt me? Then just try it. I’d love to see it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This had gone on long enough. Howard stalked forward, elbowed his way past the men, grabbed Vince by the arm, and dragged him out the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The men all applauded Howard. Apparently thinking Howard took after his father and would teach the little poofter a lesson outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I put a spell on you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you're mine</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>13.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God. He was being such a twat. And Howard was being so sweet. Vince had to loosen up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His head was starting to swim from the alcopops and he felt like that was a step in the right direction. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could fix this. Easy. He just needed to be fun again. Shouldn’t be too hard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Starting…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He twirled around Howard, pawing at the air like a shrew. Howard finally dropped the nervous look and laughed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then it was alright again. Vince kept throwing out more and more ridiculous dance moves, not caring if anyone was looking. At this point, everyone but Howard was a peachy smear anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if by magic, every time Vince finished his drink another appeared in his hand. It was genius! Like the alcopop fairy was visiting him every 15 minutes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon Vince couldn’t feel his aching feet in his platforms anymore. He didn’t care that his eyeliner was running with sweat. He didn’t give a shit about Dixon Bainbridge. Jean Claude Jacquettie. Joey Moose or any of the rest of those dickheads. He felt like he could just dance and twirl and orbit around Howard forever and everything would be sparkly and pink and genius.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Overcome with a wave of affection, Vince threw himself into Howard’s arms and Howard had to drop his beer in order to catch him. The bottle didn’t break but a fine mist of beer exploded over his shoes and coated the floor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince!” Howard said, embarrassed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But then Vince glanced up at him through his eyelashes in that special way he had and Howard stopped muttering about proper floor treatment and the effects of beer on canvas. Instead Howard twirled Vince around in his arms and Vince laughed loudly. He loved the feel of Howard’s strong arms holding him up. He might look weedy but he was quite brawny and Vince had a feeling he was going to be even more gorgeous once he filled out a bit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard set Vince back down and they kept dancing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This latest drink someone had handed him tasted of raspberries. Even though it was orange, which Vince thought was a bit strange but quickly forgot about. Because he had to had to HAD TO kiss Howard right now!!!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he launched himself lips first at Howard. He wrapped his hands around Howard’s face so he couldn’t get away. Kissing Howard like his life depended on it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was latched onto Howard like a deranged starfish with no intention of letting go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s hands dug into Howard’s hair so hard it hurt. Howard was actually having trouble breathing. And not in the fun giddy way he thought he would when Vince finally kissed him again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He tried to get away. Just a little space. To get his bearings back. But Vince wouldn’t let go. Howard pushed a little harder. He was getting nervous. Uncomfortable. Well on his way to freaking out. He tried to talk, to tell Vince to stop, but his mouth was blocked by Vince’s.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally he gave Vince a large shove and managed to push him off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince came at him again. His pupils were blown out to the size of dimes. Almost all of the blue was gone from him eyes, making him look wild and a bit scary. Howard braced him back with locked arms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. Stop!” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince lunged for him again. Howard pushed Vince hard enough that he ran into several people who had gathered around to watch the scene. Vince tripped and fell over backwards on his ass.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard briefly wanted to rush forward to help Vince up but then he felt tears of embarrassment prickle his eyes so he walked outside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat on the ground. Where was Howard? He needed he needed he needed to kiss him. He needed to do more. He needed somebody. Somebody. He felt like the loneliness would crush him unless he found someone now now now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A smooth voice floated down to him on the floor.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Feeling lonely?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded without looking up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Want to go upstairs?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Another nod. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge helped Vince to his feet and led him up the stairs to the bedroom.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stood outside for a bit. He’d decided that it was Vince who needed to apologize. So he was not going to crack. Except it had been quite a while and Vince still hadn’t come out. And he’d been acting very strangely.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Howard walked back into the house. He saw Joey Moose talking with Missy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Have you seen Vince?” Howard asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The two smirked at each other. Then Joey said, “try upstairs.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t like any of this. He felt completely out of the loop. What did all these people know that he didn’t? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard slowly climbed the stairs. Looking at the pictures hanging on the wall over the stairs. Photos of Bainbridge and Lucy and two older people who must have been their parents. Bainbridge looked just like his father. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing felt right. He wiped his hands off on his shirt as they were getting sweaty. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally he reached the top of the stairs. All of the doors to the bedrooms were open except for the one at the very end. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t know whether to move quietly or to stomp and make as much noise as possible. To give whatever was happening behind that door time to stop. So he didn’t have to see. So he didn’t have to know. But he had to know what was going on. What was behind the knowing smiles and pointed comments.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he crept slowly down the hall. Light on his toes. And he slowly opened the door and peeked inside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The light was off. But the curtains were open and the moon was full. He saw glinting raven black hair. He saw luminescent pale skin. He saw rough hands sliding up strong thighs, rucking up the edges of a dress.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince straddled Bainbridge on the bed, laying lavering kisses down his neck. When the light from the hallway caused a bar of light to splash across Dixon’s face he opened his eyes. He made direct eye contact with Howard and smiled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge hooked his arm around Vince’s waist and slung him around so Vince was lying on the bed and Bainbridge was on top of him, kissing him deeply. Vince’s legs instantly wrapped around Bainbridge’s waist. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince still hadn’t seen him. Howard broke off a sob and closed the door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As he turned around he almost smacked into Joey Moose.  Joey clapped a hand on his shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Told ya he was a slag Moono.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before he knew what was happening Howard’s fist connected with Joey Moose’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Joey fell over but then sprang back up and punched Howard. Two hits. Joey hitting Howard and Howard hitting the floor.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t feel well. Something was wrong. A moment ago kissing Bainbridge had seemed like the best thing in the world. The only solution to the crushing loneliness. Everything was wrong. The kisses tasted bitter not sweet as they should. His head hurt and he’d sworn he’d never go back. That this would never happen again. He’d never be this lonely. Not when he had Howard. Howard! Where was Howard?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince tried to shove Bainbridge off but Bainbridge was much larger than him. He tried to kick away but Bainbridge had him pinned. And kept kissing him. Forcing his tongue into Vince’s mouth. Vince shoved again and still Bainbridge wouldn’t stop. So Vince bit down hard on his lip. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge jerked away from him. Dabbing at his bleeding lip with his tongue. Looking even more turned on because of it. Vince used his momentary distraction to squirm out from underneath him and crawl off the bed, but Bainbridge stood between him and the door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah. So you’ve come to,” Bainbridge said. He swiped at his neck where there was a large smear of dark lipstick. He examined his hand. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What you talkin’ about? What’d you do to me?” Vince demanded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge smirked. “Oh. Just a bit of witchcraft.” He pulled a little bottle from his pocket. Vince recognized the bottle. He’d lettered the label himself. Fling. A love potion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s knees went weak. The drink he’d had. The orange one that tasted of raspberries. Fling made everything taste like raspberries. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Y-you drugged me? But Bryan. He’d never sell you-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Got a friend to pick it up for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The way he’d launched himself at Howard. The way Howard had tried to push him away. Howard was never going to forgive him. Because of a fucking love potion!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If he could get to Howard he could explain. But first he had to make it out of this room and Bainbridge didn’t look like he had any intention of letting that happen. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince backed into the corner. Bainbridge took a few steps forward. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>14.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they got outside, Vince wrenched himself out of Howard’s grasp. His mind was still fizzling with anger so even though he had the sense that he should probably be grateful to Howard for getting him out of there he wasn’t quite ready to thank him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had that handled.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It certainly looked it,” Howard said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wotever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly Vince. I don’t know what you were playing at. I’m just trying to look out for you and it’s like you’re-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wisely didn’t finish that sentence. Though it would have been far wiser if he’d never started it in the first place. He’d come dangerously close to saying something he’d really regret. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it looked like the damage was done anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like what Howard?” Vince leaned in close, his voice acid dangerous. “Like I’m askin’ for it? Is that what you were gonna say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been. But not in the way Vince thought. He hadn’t meant in general. Just tonight. Just in there. With those men all around him. But he was still wrong. Vince should have been able to go where he liked. Dress how he liked. Be who he liked. Without the constant threat of violence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That’s right. Way I dress. Way I act. I must be askin’ for it right Howard? Must be positively gaggin’ for it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard waited too long to answer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince nodded. “Right. I’m leavin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Howard found his voice. “I just want to protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need your protection,” Vince said. “I never have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that Vince stalked away and was swiftly swallowed by the darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>15.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard sat outside the party with an icy beer can pressed to a large knot on his head. After Joey had punched him he’d woken up face down in a bush outside. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t feel like he was ready or able to walk home so he’d grabbed a can of beer and slunk around to the side of the house where no one was around. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tears drifted down his cheeks. He knew it was stupid. That he and Vince barely knew each other. That Vince could do whatever he wanted. But it didn’t stop him from feeling like his heart was broken. He supposed he should be used to this by now. He always ended up liking someone better than they ever liked him. He knew he was difficult to like. That he was pompous and condescending and moody. But he’d thought Vince was different. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. He wasn’t wrong about that. Vince did like him. Just not the way Howard wanted him to. He had no right to feel hurt. But every time that thought ran through his mind-you have no right to feel hurt-he felt even worse. He had no right to feel hurt. Vince had never promised him anything. He had no right to feel hurt. He’d certainly taken long enough to make any sort of move himself. He had no right to feel hurt. He was the one who’d pushed Vince away. He had no right to feel hurt. Vince could do whatever he wanted. He had no right to feel hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard roughly brushed at the tears on his cheeks, embarrassed and annoyed at their presence. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His mind kept replaying Joey’s words. “He’s a slag. He’ll go down on anyone anytime.” Maybe he was ri-Howard sternly cut off this thought. Vince could do what he wanted with whomever he wanted. He didn’t owe Howard. Howard wasn’t some bloody victorian. What. Was he going to judge Vince? Him? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get offa me!” A high pitched voice screamed. The lone cockney island in a sea of northerners. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard darted back around to the back of the house to find Vince and Bainbridge struggling. Vince pulled away from Bainbridge. Bainbridge had his fingers dug into Vince’s arm hard enough to bruise. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get off!” Vince yelled. He reached to try and hit Bainbridge but Bainbridge caught his hand.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get back inside you little slut,” Bainbridge snarled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He pulled Vince back toward the door with Vince dragging his feet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard surged forward but Joey and Jean Claude and Fossil appeared out of nowhere and smoothly blocked his way. He tried to shove past them but they grabbed a hold of him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Best just let this one play out Moono.” Joey said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince almost broke loose and he tried to run away but Bainbridge ran up and wrapped his arms around Vince’s waist. Picking him up, throwing him over his shoulder, and starting to carry him back into the house. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard struggled to free his arms but there were just too many of them. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“ELISHA!!!” Vince screamed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Elisha the hawk swooped down, screeching, and with a click of her talons slashed down Bainbridge’s face. Bainbridge threw Vince on the crowd and clutched his face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince!” Howard screamed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t get up. He curled in on himself. Clutching his stomach where he’d hit the ground. The air knocked out of him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge stumbled around the little yard screaming as Elisha slashed and clawed at him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Joey, Jean Claude, and Fossil all stood with their mouths hanging open distracted by the spectacle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard got around them and ran to Vince.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince gulped air. Howard knelt beside him, grabbing his hand.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. Are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat up a bit. “Yeah. I think so. I just-” His big blue eyes filled up with tears. “I just.” He sniffed.  “I just.” His face crumpled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded and pulled Vince into a hug with Vince’s face pressed into his chest. Vince wrapped his arms around Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Howard helped Vince to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once they were a safe distance from the party Vince called to Elisha and once more she circled overhead. Just in case.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the present Howard runs into the wrong guy. In the past Vince tells Howard a bit more about his past and maybe their date doesn't end in total disaster.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After Vince left, Howard went back inside. Clearly more drinking was the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he settled once again on his barstool and tried not to cringe away in revulsion whenever one of the oldtimers came over to congratulate him for giving that little fairy what he had coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice someone sit down on the stool next to him. He stared straight at his own reflection in the backbar mirror. Only breaking eye contact with himself when the barman passed in front of him. Drinking with purpose. He didn’t notice who was beside him until a large meaty hand thunked a fresh scotch onto the bar right next to his hand. Howard blinked then stared blearily at the person who had purchased his latest drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That same booming voice, “Howard Moon, good to see you old boy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dixon fucking Bainbridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a snarl Howard grabbed Bainbridge’s shirt, drawing him close to try and hit him. Bainbridge escaped easily and punched Howard in the gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard doubled over and Bainbridge tried to press his advantage but Howard staved him off and threw a punch. It caught Bainbridge on the jaw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They circled each other warily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They would lunge together, grapple for a moment then break apart again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge looked largely the same. His hair was shot with grey but still thick. He was still solidly built and well muscled. And from the looks of it still an utter prick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard grabbed at Bainbridge and actually managed to get a good enough grip to land a few punches but then a bottle shattered across the back of his head and he crumpled to the floor. Unconscious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>2.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince couldn’t stop shivering. Howard shrugged off his checked shirt and slung it around Vince’s shoulders. He wanted to ask what happened but Vince looked like he was about to fall to pieces. Howard didn’t want to make him shatter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Elisha flew low, swooping around Howard and Vince in wide circles. Screeching and chittering at Vince. Vince would respond in the same way. Howard couldn’t understand what Vince was saying but Elisha didn’t sound especially satisfied. Finally she gained altitude again and flew off. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“She’s gonna make sure no one is following us,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s mind kept flitting back and forth between Vince screaming as Bainbridge dragged him back inside and Vince kissing Bainbridge, running kisses down his neck. He couldn’t make the images jibe in his head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The only sound was their feet crunching gravel as they walked. Vince had his arms wrapped around himself and when he accidentally bumped Howard he squeaked “sorry” then walked further away from Howard to make sure there was no more incidental contact. Every once in a while Elisha would scream something down to Vince, what Howard assumed were periodic reports. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince took a breath as if he was going to speak but then didn’t. He did this a couple more times. Howard had never known Vince to hold back. It seemed that after several failed attempts he was finally able to work up the courage to break the silence.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I guess um, I mean, you don’t have to walk with me-” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God. He sounded so timid. So small and young. Much younger than 16. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean if you don’t want to. I know you probably gotta get back to your dad’s ‘n…” Vince let the sentence trail off into nothingness. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For once Howard didn’t bluster on about how he as a man of action was obligated to protect Vince and make sure he made it home safe. Instead he just quietly said, “I’ll walk with you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was glad Howard didn’t take the out. He hated the idea of being alone at the moment. Even just walking along, not touching or talking, was better than being on his own. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was still feeling the aftereffects of the potion.  He’d never actually experienced a love potion before but Bryan had him write the side effects on every bottle they sold so he knew well enough what he could look forward to. He was going to have a bad headache for a while. Everything was going to taste of raspberries for a couple days, didn’t matter if it was chips, or curry, or sushi, everything. And there was a lingering emptiness in his chest, a lonliness that was fading, but far too slowly for his taste. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Every potion worked differently. With Fling the loneliness was what made the potion work. People thought it just released inhibitions like alcohol. But really it induced a crushing loneliness that could only be lifted by physical contact with someone else. You just wanted more more more of them otherwise you felt like you might die from it. Then after about an hour it wore off. You were only supposed to dose yourself with Fling. To lower your own defenses. But that didn’t stop people from using it on the object of their infatuation and putting themselves in proximity. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They walked down the dirt lane toward the stone cottage. When they reached the Y in the lane where one side led to the cottage and the other prong led down to the lake, Vince stopped.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bryan will still be up. I don’ wanna explain why I’m back so early. He’ll hear it all from Elisha eventually but I don’t wanna tell him just yet. Will you come to the lake with me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded and they walked down to the lake.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When they reached the lake Vince climbed out onto the log and sat down. His tights were going to be snagged all to shit but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He prayed Howard would follow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was even less keen on crawling onto the log in the dark, but the moon lit things well enough and he couldn’t let the night end this way. So he climbed onto the log and sat next to Vince. Very careful that they weren’t touching.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince noted this and nodded to himself as if this was to be expected. He ducked his head and studied his own reflection in the water for a bit. He winced and pressed his fingers to his temples. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When he finally spoke Howard almost missed it because it was so quiet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘M sorry Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. At least I don’t think you do. I swear I’m not angry. I’m just-I’m bloody well confused. What happened?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bainbridge dosed me with a love potion. He wanted to try it on and he knew I’d never-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well I should certainly think not,” Howard said hotly. “He’s too old for you. He should know better than to, and then he-and I mean why would he…” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard noticed that Vince was picking at the bark on the log. Not looking at Howard. Not talking.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He was nice to me,” Vince said. “When no one else was. It was always really hard for me here. No friends. No one to talk to but Bryan and the animals. The kids liked to push me around. They’d chase me. Beat me up. When I was 13, it got a lot worse.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince stared very hard at his hand picking at the bark on the log.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When I was little it never seemed personal, right? Like it just felt like it had ta be somebody and so it was me they picked on. But then when we got older it seemed like they hated ME. Really hated me. They’d rip up my clothes and call me a queer and a poof and a f-faggot.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard tensed, prayed that Vince wouldn’t notice his shifty eyes as he thought back to his father in the car, calling Vince that same horrible word. As if Vince would be able to read his mind.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They always liked to play this game. They called it dunk the witch. They would corner me here and they would drag me out into the water. And hold my head under. Not long enough that I couldn’t hold my breath. But enough to scare me. But one day they took it too far. They were holding me under too long and I panicked. And couldn’t time my breaths right. And I was starting to go all black around the edges.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard could almost hear the splashing and screaming. He felt like he could see the disturbance in the water. But then the screams weren’t Vince’s anymore. They were his own. He’d nearly drowned when he was 4 and had been scared of the water ever since. He largely had a handle on it, but the thought of being held under made him feel like he was drowning on land. He wanted to reach over and hold Vince’s hand. But he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take Vince’s pain or just make himself feel better, so he didn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘N he saved me.” Vince’s voice almost seemed to plead with Howard, please understand. “He yelled at them to stop. ‘N everyone looked up to Bainbridge. Everyone. Everyone loved him. So they stopped. And he pulled me out of the water. And I was cryin’, just snot everywhere. Hysterical right? And he don’t make fun of me. He just says ‘Vince are you okay?’ He don’t call me witch child or girlyboy. He calls me Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t know how to make Howard understand how significant it felt to be called by his own name. Not to be called by an insult or a slur or a judgy little nickname. A recognition that he was human. A human with a name.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He scared the other kids off since he was about 5 years older. And then we went into the woods. He practically carried me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge had taken Vince to a large fallen log surrounded by soft grass. A good place to sit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “And by the time we sat down I was halfway in love.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He heard Howard stop breathing at his admission of his childhood feelings for Bainbridge. A hurt little intake of air. Then nothing. When he did breath again the next few breaths were all out of sync. He thought Howard was trying to calm himself back down. But he couldn’t look. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I just kept thanking him. And I’d think I was under control but then I’d start crying again. And he was really nice. He rubbed my back. Played with my hair. And it felt really nice. That he was paying attention to me. And after I was calmed down we talked for a bit. And then he leaned over and kissed me. I’d never kissed anyone before. And I was sort of scared. But mostly I was excited. The boy that everyone had a crush on was kissing me. The witch child.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The night after Bainbridge rescued Vince he couldn’t stop smiling. Giggling into his pillow. A giddy school girl crush. He thought about kissing Bainbridge all through class the next day. Drawing hearts in his notebook.  So innocent it almost hurt. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Lucy called him an ugly snaggletoothed bitch it didn’t hurt so bad because he had a secret. He’d kissed her brother. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next day after school he walked home and Bainbridge appeared out of the woods.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let’s go somewhere,” he had said. Then he led Vince to what he still sometimes caught himself thinking of as their spot. The place where Bainbridge had first brought him after he rescued him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The next time we saw each other we kissed for a while. And it was really nice. Then he asked if I’d touch him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was absolutely terrified when Bainbridge asked him to touch him. But he hadn’t wanted to seem ungrateful. And he didn’t want Bainbridge to leave him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So I did.” Vince said. “I touched his. He touched mine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His cheeks were burning so hot he thought for sure Howard would be able to see them glowing in the dark. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d been very quiet that night while he and Bryan ate dinner and he went straight to his room. Usually Bryan couldn’t get a moment of peace and quiet if Vince was home. But that night Vince just went straight to bed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So we kept doing that for a while. I, um, I didn’t really like it but I wanted him to like me. I just wanted anyone to like me.” Vince’s voice dissolved into a whisper. He noisily cleared his throat. Trying to get his voice back to a level audible by human ears. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And Bryan could tell something was wrong. But I wouldn’t tell him what it was. And me and Bainbridge kept meeting in the woods.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And other people started being nicer to him. They stopped chasing him and beating him up at least. He noticed that some of his classmates had started to eye him appraisingly. As if they hadn’t actually noticed what he looked like until he had the Bainbridge seal of approval. He would sometimes catch Joey or Jean Claude or even Lucy looking at him with something that to him seemed like hunger but as he grew older understood to be lust. That was the first time he understood that he had actually succeeded in making himself beautiful after years of misfires with sloppily applied eyeshadow and garish lipstick. He credited this to Bainbridge. Bainbridge had designated him beautiful and the others could finally see it.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And then he wanted more than touching. He asked if I’d give him a blowjob.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wanted to close his eyes against the images but they only grew more vivid with his eyes closed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I told him I didn’t want to. It terrified me. It seemed like too much.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard felt he knew what was coming next but let Vince continue on. Knowing that Vince needed to tell him the entire story.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He said if I loved him I should do this for him. Something so simple and easy. But maybe I was just a selfish witch child after all. Maybe he’d been wrong about me. Maybe I wasn’t as special as he thought.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It hurt Howard’s heart to hear Vince say such a thing. As if he needed confirmation that he was special. And that he’d looked to someone like Bainbridge for that confirmation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I still said no. I didn’t want to and I was scared. So I said no. And he left. And when I would see him he’d ignore me. Just walk straight past as if he’d never seen me before.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As Vince spoke he continually swiped his makeup from under his eyes just as he reached the tipping point between tragically gorgeous and hot mess. Also as he twisted his fingers through his hair he was subconsciously molding his hair into an artful tussle. Howard didn’t think Vince did it on purpose. It just seemed to be entirely instinctual. Like he just couldn’t help but be aware of his appearance. Couldn’t not be beautiful. Howard wondered if he ever got tired. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had been a wreck. He was heartbroken. The pain of going back to being so lonely after having such a small taste of what he thought at the time was love was unbearable. He was only 13 and everything felt like the end of the world. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eventually Bryan had to go on another trip. He was forever having to travel to source ingredients for spells or meeting with any of his various witch and shaman friends to find out the latest techniques in the magic world.  He didn’t want to leave Vince but he also had to keep working so they could eat. So he gently knocked on Vince’s door, asked if there was anything he could do, and when he was met only with silence, he left. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan never took Vince with him. He couldn’t, for Vince’s own safety. Vince knew this but it didn’t make it any easier. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bryan had ta go out of town. ‘N I dunno know how Bainbridge knew. But he did. So he came round. ‘N at that point I woulda done basically anything to get him back. So I…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince twisted a lock of hair around his finger. He really really hadn’t wanted Howard to know any of this. Now Howard was going to know he was a total slag and wouldn’t want anything to do with him.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I...I did what he wanted.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was seriously going to have to consider going for the Alice Cooper look all the time considering how much time that day he’d spent crying. He swiped under his eyes with his thumbs trying to clean himself up a bit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Bainbridge first arrived at the cottage Vince had been so excited. That he was back. He’d wanted to show him his room, and the birds, and Mr. Rabbit, but Bainbridge had just wanted to get down to business. And once they were done he’d mostly been interested in poking around in Bryan’s things. Eventually Vince got nervous and said Bryan didn’t like people going through his stuff and maybe they’d better go outside. And that was when Bainbridge took Vince into the bedroom. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bryan got worried and turned around and came back. He put a stop to it before it progressed past…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was still a virgin and he had Bryan to thank for that. For saving him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I begged Bryan not to go to the police. I just wanted it over. Finally he agreed. I think he knew that the cops round here wouldn’t do anything anyway.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan told Bainbridge if he ever came near Vince again he would put a curse on him so unholy it would echo for generations. And he’d put a spell on the house to keep those with bad intentions from entering. Bainbridge had tried to come back once a few weeks later, and he’d gotten a nasty jolt for his troubles. And that had been that. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Dixon Bainbridge for three years. Until that night.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Right after he broke it off with Bainbridge the bullying got a lot worse. He could barely make it home without being accosted. But then Jean Claude had come up to him in an empty hallway at school and said that Bainbridge had said he was an easy lay. That he was desperate and up for anything. And Vince had gotten angry. He was just about to tell him to sod off before he put a hex on him, but then Jean Claude had pinned him against the wall and started kissing him. And he hated to admit it, but it was sort of nice. Hell. It wasn’t sort of nice. It was very nice. It was nice to get kissed instead of beaten up, it didn’t take a genius to work that one out. After they kissed, Jean Claude told all of his friends that Vince was a right slag and also a very good kisser. So then they all started coming round and Vince got a reputation among the younger set as the town slut. Vince had held out hope that eventually the kissing would lead to something more. Maybe they’d start to care about him.  But of course it had never happened. All it led to was them pressuring him to do things he was very uncomfortable with. And now that he’d met Howard and knew what it actually felt like to be with someone who actually cared, he knew it never would never happen with the others. And he didn’t want it to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So tonight. I um, I guess he was feelin’ nostalgic and he dosed my drink. I’m really really sorry Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince stared at the moon, scared to look at Howard. To see the disgust he was sure must have taken up residence now that the whole sordid tale was complete. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince jumped a bit when Howard placed his hand over Vince’s own. Howard could see it written all over Vince’s face that he’d convinced himself this was all his fault. When nothing could be further from the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. Look at me,” Howard commanded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince flicked his eyes to Howard then away just as quickly. Then his eyes slowly wandered over. As if the advance party had given the all clear. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard took a deep breath and looked deep into Vince’s eyes. Really concentrating on making eye contact. Not letting his eyes dart and shift as they usually did to avoid any hint of eye contact. He held Vince’s gaze as best he could. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You have nothing to be sorry about.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s eyes darted away. Howard stole Vince’s best trick and forced himself into Vince’s eye line as Vince so often did when Howard couldn’t look at him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He ducked down but tilted his head up, waiting until he made contact with Vince’s eyes and gave him a friendly smile as if to say in a pleased tone “Ah, found you.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“None of what happened tonight was your fault. None of what happened  back then was your fault.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I-” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard caressed Vince’s face. Vince fell silent and instinctively pressed into the touch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You were a child Vince. You still are. To take advantage. To try to-none of that is your fault. You weren’t capable of giving consent then and you weren’t capable of giving consent earlier. I am. Just. So sorry Vince. I’m so sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded a couple times. His movements jerky. Trying to make up for his lack of belief with emphaticness. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean it Vince. He shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry I put you in that situat-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“NO!” Vince’s scream felt like that of a small child. Vince ran his thumbs over his finger tips. He poked his tongue into the corner of his mouth. Trying to pull himself together.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. You didn’t do anything. It wasn’t- you didn’t know- I was scared for you to know-I could have-but I didn’t want you to know-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could be scatterbrained. Vince could be spacey. But Howard had never seen him struggle this much to string together a sentence. So desperate was he to absolve Howard of all blame. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could have-and I just-I was scared.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t understand why Vince was so scared to tell him. Maybe it was just painful to relive for any reason. But he kept saying he was scared for Howard to know. Did he really think something like that would change his opinion of him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, hadn’t it? Almost? Hadn’t he been sitting behind the house thinking at least a couple uncharitable thoughts? But that was before. Before he knew.  Though that didn’t excuse it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He had another overwhelming urge to make it up to Vince. He wanted to do something now. Anything. To show Vince the depth of his feeling. Something to show that what Vince had told him changed nothing. To make Vince’s world just a little bit brighter as Vince so often did for him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince? Can I hug you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Best to check. Vince might not want to be touched after what he’d just gone through.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince responded by throwing his arms around Howard. Then he let go quickly. “Sorry.” He pointed at himself. “You’re sposed to be hugging me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled softly at that. It was just so perfectly Vince. Always so concerned about who was hugging who. He’d once spent an afternoon letting Vince expound on his surprisingly complicated thoughts on hugging with only minimal, minimal for Howard anyway, interruptions. The kind of attention one might pay to composing a beautiful piece of music or painting a great work of art Vince put into the art of touch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard actually appreciated the fact that Vince had worked out a system of various hugs and their purposes. He had specific theories about hand placement and how it affected the message sent. It was as complicated as a reflexology chart. Howard liked systems. Especially complicated ones. There was a certain authority to a system so complicated it could barely be understood. Social interactions were hard. It was nice to have a system to fall back on. So Howard deployed what Vince claimed was a hug that said “You are safe and very loved”.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was using the “safe and loved” hug! It almost made Vince well up again at the thought that Howard had actually taken the time to learn all his hug definitions. He’d synthesized the hug from movies that he had definitely been too young to watch but had anyway. Ones where passions ran high and the big strong hero swept the heroine into his arms and promised to protect her always. It was actually quite an advanced hug so Vince was impressed. Especially with the added challenge of doing it from a precarious sitting position. He gave Howard top marks for this hug. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I LOVE YOU!!! The words almost burst out of him. He chomped down on them as if they were bubble gum. He chewed them up and swallowed them. Which you really weren’t supposed to do with gum or declarations of love but everyone did anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They hugged for a bit. Then Vince started to giggle. Shaking his head at himself.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What is it now?” Howard asked, feigning annoyance.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pressed a secret smile that was impossible to miss into his shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re just...lovely, Howard.” Then, Howard thought he might die on the spot due to how adorable it was, Vince covered his eyes with his hands. As if he had said too much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t think he’d ever been called lovely before. Not even by his mum. He found he rather liked it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard unwrapped his arms from around Vince. He brushed Vince’s hair away from his face. Tucking stray strands behind Vince’s ears. Vince closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure at the touch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Howard leaned forward. And kissed Vince.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>*** </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shot his eyes open in surprise but then quickly closed them again. Sinking into the kiss. His suspicions that being the recipient of a Howard kiss was even more genius than initiating one proved to be correct. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stroked the side of his face with a calloused thumb and Vince pressed into it before lunging forward and pressing his tongue into Howard’s mouth. He stroked the side of Howard’s tongue with his own then moved to Howard’s neck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s tongue curved down Howard’s neck and Howard’s breath hitched.  Vince pressed a few more kisses working his way up Howard’s neck, but they were rushed like he couldn’t stand to be parted from Howard’s lips for too long and in short order his lips were back on Howard’s. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard singlehandedly redeemed the flavor of raspberry for Vince. Vince had been dreading eating or drinking because anything he ate would taste of raspberries for days and the thought of it made him want to throw up. But when Howard kissed him and it tasted of raspberries it was lovely. The bad sense memories instantly replaced with the sweetest. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard kissed the side of Vince’s face, then kissed him down his jaw. The wispy hairs of Howard’s attempt at a mustache tickled and Vince giggled right into Howard’s ear. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s giggles vibrated Howard’s ear and Howard’s mouth pulled into a lupine grin before he kissed down Vince’s neck, intentionally tickling him more, and being rewarded by more of Vince giggling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard shivered as Vince hooked his hand into Howard’s curls and very gently pulled Howard’s face back to his own. As he pressed Howard’s lips to his own he pulled Howard’ toward himself as he leaned backwards, temporarily forgetting he was precariously perched on a log. He nearly took both Howard and himself into the lake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard grabbed with one arm to steady himself and hooked his other arm around Vince’s waist. Vince grabbed Howard’s face as a thank you for saving him and planted a big my hero kiss on Howard’s cheek, his smile wider than usual due to the adrenaline boost of almost falling. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard slid his hands down to Vince’s hips ostensibly to keep him steady. But in actuality because that is where his hands wanted to be. Feeling Vince’s hips shifting under the dress. It drove him mad. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince twitched into his hands, unsteadying himself yet again in his effort to get closer to Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Whoa there little man. Easy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s voice was even deeper than usual. Beautiful thrumming bass. Vince had never associated the northern accent with being soothing, as most people possessing a northern accent mostly screamed things at him from moving vehicles, but Howard’s voice made him feel so safe. And innocent. Despite what they were doing. Like it was right to be kissing him in a way it never had been with anyone else. Any time he’d ever kissed anyone else there was that undercurrent of guilt. And discomfort. And he’d started to accept that this was just how kissing felt. Had convinced himself that he liked it.  That it was the best he could hope for. You get what you get and you don’t get upset. But now he knew it could feel different. There’d been a brief flash of it when he’d first kissed Howard. The day they’d met, But it had been too short. It had just been an impulse. Now he knew Howard actually was as wonderful as he’d seemed. For once he’d successfully discerned someone’s true character. His optimism finally justified. By Howard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He had to get closer. Even the few inches seemed too much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince turned so he was straddling the log where it had been worn smooth.  Howard did the same quickly because he didn’t want to lose contact with Vince for even an instant. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once they were both safely situated Vince grabbed the front of Howard’s shirt, curling the material in his fist, dragging Howard’s lips to his own. Closed mouth at first but then Howard poked his tongue into Vince’s mouth and he moved his hand down to grip Vince’s thigh. Vince gasped.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And that sound was so amazing Howard wanted to see if he could make it happen again, like playing a note on the trumpet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He drew his fingers down Vince’s thigh toward his knee and Vince squirmed and giggled. Not quite. So Howard slid his hand to Vince’s back, caressing his lower back and Vince gasped again. Jackpot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The kiss was growing more energetic. Vince had already nearly fallen off the log at least 3 times so he only rolled his eyes a little bit when Howard said, “Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I really want to keep doing this.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Me too.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I also don’t want to fall into the water. Because you’ll see me cry like a girl and I am not a pretty crier like you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So they broke apart to crawl off the log and get back on solid ground. But then Howard started overthinking where their next snogging location would be. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We don’t want to have to move again Vince,” he said after he’d rejected close to the water as too wet and a soft patch of grass near some bushes as too close to a beehive. Vince tried to convince Howard that the bees wouldn’t bother them and if they came buzzing around where they weren’t wanted he’d just tell them to sod off but Howard didn’t want to risk it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince tapped his foot as he watched Howard quietly muttering to himself about grass versus moss and the possibility of poisonous fungus in the area.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally Vince grew impatient and said “Howard, if I’m not kissing you again in 30 seconds then I am going to throw a hissy fit the likes of which has never been seen. Are we clear?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded. He showed quite a bit more urgency after that but he did still manage to use the entire 30 seconds Vince had given him, debating the merits of various spots before settling on a spot with soft grass and a large mossy rock for back support right as Vince loudly said “FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO.-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They kissed for a while longer. Then broke apart because they could see things were progressing past kissing and neither of them were quite ready for that. Best to slow down.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was grateful that Howard didn’t seem annoyed. Vince just wanted to enjoy kissing a bit more. In his experience once you progressed past a certain point the other person would never be satisfied with just kissing again. And he rather liked just kissing Howard. All the rest still left him quite nervous. He felt that there had never been an instance where it was something he wanted to do. More something he had to do, otherwise he’d be alone even more than he already was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hoped Vince didn’t mind him putting the brakes on a bit. He was less experienced. More accurately described as zero experienced. Or at least zero relevant experience in that area. He had a feeling that feeling up some girl’s breasts while they made out after a gig was not going to help when it came to Vince. And he’d never done even that for long. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard found that he quite enjoyed kissing Vince but he also couldn’t pretend that the kissing hadn’t been overwhelming. That much touch. For such an extended period of time. It was getting to be a bit too much. He didn’t think he would be able to manage that much touching with anyone else. It would have sent him screeching into the hills. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard peeked over at Vince and he didn’t seem put out or disappointed so Howard relaxed a bit.  He sprawled out flat on his back and stared up at the stars. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The grass under his back was very soft, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and grass around them. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince laid down and used Howard’s belly as a pillow. Howard found he liked the reassuring weight of Vince’s head resting on his stomach. It made him feel calm. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard pointed at a constellation. “See, there’s Gemini.” With his other hand he ran his fingers through Vince’s hair.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s eyes followed Howard’s finger as it drew a pattern in the sky. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pointed. “And what’s that one?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Taurus.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince made a buzzer sound. “Wrong. It’s Little Jimmy Hopper. I’ll give you another go. What’s that one?” Vince pointed at a different constellation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cancer.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wrong again. That is The Boom Boom Clock With Three Arms.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A smile tugged at Howard’s lips. “And that’s an official designation is it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s common knowledge Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard could hear the smirk in Vince’s voice. That mischievous toothy smile. The way he always licked his back molars when he was taking the piss. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Available in any astronomy book is it?” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pretty much. They did a special on it on BBC 3. It was well borin’, thought you’d be all over it like a flannel.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry to have missed it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright. Well, this is your last chance. One more wrong answer and you’re done for.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pointed at another constellation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was Orion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fraggle the Stump Headed Boy,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat up and grinned at him. Sunrise coming early.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Finally got one. Honestly Howard, thought I was supposed to be the thick one.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard growled, “Careful you little titbox. Or I’ll come at you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You and what moves?” Vince said, flicking his tongue over his incisor.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“All of em.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t got all the moves.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Completed the set last week, found the last one in a weetabix box,” Howard said solemnly. “I’ve even got the limited edition holographic moves.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let’s see one then.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard pressed his palm to Vince’s chest and jiggled it around. “Vibrating palm. You might not feel anything now. But in a week you’re gonna look really bad in a hat and you’ll know. Chicka chicka.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Impossible. I look great in all hats.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll see.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard propped himself up on his elbows and felt something in his pocket jab into his thigh. The mix tape. He’d forgotten to give it to Vince. Howard stuck his hand in his pocket but didn’t pull it back out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve got a present for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince glanced down at Howard’s hand in his pocket and grinned lasciviously. “Do you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard blushed a bit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry Howard, can’t help myself. What is it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince rearranged himself so he was sitting back on his heels. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard suddenly felt a bit nervous. What if Vince didn’t like it? What if he thought it was stupid or laughed?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince bounced up and down a bit, like a little kid sitting on the floor waiting for his mum to hand him the big present from Santa Claus. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard pulled out the mixtape and handed it to Vince.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince gasped, turning the tape over reverently in his hands. “A mixtape! Thank you Howard. I’ve always wanted someone to make me one. I always thought they was well romantic. I can’t wait to listen to it. Should I go get my walkman. No that’s dumb. I’ll listen later. Who’s on it? What songs?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled at Vince’s babbling. How he kept asking Howard questions and then not even pausing to let Howard answer them. The way he kept swiping his fringe out of his eyes only for it to tumble back down again. With every passing second Vince was talking faster and faster. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s so cool. Did you put Gary Numan on? Don’t tell me. Not too much jazz I hope. Right Howard? Well I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Probably do this sort of thing all the time. Being in a cool band in Leeds and all and-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince finally just cut himself off and tackled Howard into a hug. “Thanks Howard. It’s genius. I love it. I’m gonna keep it forever. “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He pressed a sweet kiss to Howard’s lips.  Then Vince snuggled into Howard’s side with a sigh. Howard found he quite liked that sound as well. The bigger boy glanced down at the smaller one and  saw Vince could hardly keep his eyes open. He’d expended the very last of his energy in his excitement over the mixtape. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m really tired Howard. Think I’m gonna have a little sleepy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard twined his fingers through Vince’s hair. “You do that little man.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince fell asleep basically instantly with the mixtape clutched in one hand, and the front of Howard’s shirt clutched in the other. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard continued stroking his hair. Making note of every little sigh and huff as Vince dreamed. Whenever Vince shifted his bangles would produce a soft jingling. The lap of the water on the shore was so soothing that Howard found his own eyes starting to get heavy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the past Howard's father is not happy he's been out all night and Howard goes to Vince for help. In the present Howard tries to give Vince a warning.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince woke up as sunlight poked past his eyelids. He groaned but Howard had his arms wrapped tight around him so that made waking up so early quite a bit better. Vince leaned forward and buried his face in Howard’s side. Taking in the scent of tea, some sort of piney and well manly deodorant, and the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke. He thought it might be a rather grand idea to just lay by the lake all day, but he still had a bit of a headache and Howard should probably get home.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He hated to wake Howard though. All the trouble smoothed from his face when he slept. His dark curls tumbled across his brow. A faint smile bloomed  on his lips. As if he was having a particularly sweet dream.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well Vince could show him reality could be sweet as well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince leaned down and pressed a kiss to Howard’s sleeping lips. Rather liking the idea of being the prince to Howard’s sleeping beauty. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s eyes fluttered open. Revealing that deep chocolatey brown Vince felt he could dive into. He always felt like his own eyes were shallow ponds of chlorine. But Howard’s were a deep pool of chocolate you could easily drown in. That actually sounded genius. A pool of chocolate. He could get on board with that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled up at Vince but then he saw that it was light out and getting lighter all the time and the smile promptly disappeared.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What time is it?” Howard asked. His voice panicky.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dunno. 6:30? 7?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard scrambled to his feet. “No, no, no.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard, are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, no, no. My dad. He’s going to kill me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, Bryan ain’t gonna be too happy with me either. Look just calm down and-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Howard could not calm down. Vince didn’t understand what was going to happen. And that was very much by design. Howard steadfastly refused to talk about his father. Any time he showed up looking a little worse for wear he blamed it on general clumsiness. Vince, being somewhat of a klutz himself, (though most of his injuries were Jeremy related) accepted the explanation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And Howard did not have time to explain. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked up at him from where he was still seated on the ground, “See you later?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hope so.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah,” Howard said. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Vince’s lips then walked up the path away from the lake. Once he was out of Vince’s view he started running. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He tore up the unpaved lane until it became paved as he reached the edge of town. He ran down the street, every bird singing and ray of sunshine reminding him how late he was, what he was running toward. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally he was standing in front of his father’s house. He was out of breath. He cursed his smoker’s lungs that his father could probably hear. Which would only add to his father’s wrath. He swiped under his eye and saw he was already crying. And it hadn’t even started yet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He took several deep breaths, shook out his hands rapidly, then opened the front door of the house and stepped inside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He saw his father sitting in his chair with his back to the door. All the lights in the house were off but the curtains were open, cutting through the dark with swaths of harsh white sunlight. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father rose out of his chair. And even though Howard had hit a growth spurt his father was still so much bigger than him. He stalked toward Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His voice was dangerously smooth, “What time do you call this then?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s eyes fluttered open. He was moving. He was in the back of a car and his head ached something awful. He touched the back of his skull and saw he was bleeding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. You’re awake. Excellent,” a voice coming from the front seat said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s all this then?” He said. It sounded bizarre to his own ears. All puffed up and annoyed as if he’d come across some kids making a mess, rather than waking up in a car with a split open head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it was high time for us to have a proper conversation.” The voice said. And Howard’s vision focused enough he could see that it was Bainbridge sitting in the front seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I have something to say to you. Stay away from Vince Noir. Plan your daddy’s funeral. Lay a wreath on his grave and leave town. Don’t fiddle fuck around. Don’t get nostalgic. Funeral. Then leave. Or you will get hurt,” Bainbridge said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? What are you planning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is no mind of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you hurt him-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moon. I’m trying to do you a favor. You’ve listened to reason before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That little statement left the taste of bile in his mouth. Listened to reason. That was certainly one way to put it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked your father. He was a good man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard laughed but it was dead and lifeless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to hurt his son. But I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tried to sit up, but snake quick Bainbridge’s arm snaked around the seat and punched him. Square on the chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard swam in and out of consciousness.  “Goddammit. At this rate it’s going to take all night. Fuck it. Good enough. Let’s take him back to the house. I’ve got to try and contact the Violette’s again tomorrow. These posh types never answer the goddamn phone”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think he got the idea?” The driver, asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope so. I’ve been waiting long enough for the right opportunity. And when it finally falls in my lap I will not have it befucked by Howard Moon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Howard walked in his dad slapped him hard across the face. But that was just the opening salvo. It continued on from there largely unabated. When his father paused to remove his belt to better make his displeasure known, Howard took the opportunity to get to his feet and run out of the house.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His nose was so swollen and packed with blood and snot he could barely breath and his eyes were bleary with tears and so he fell off the front steps, scraping his hands up terribly on the concrete. His father charged out of the house.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You get back here Howard, do not make me come and collect you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard scrambled to his feet and took off running.  His father stalked after him but knew that in the end Howard really had no place to go and would have to return home eventually. Howard might be able to sleep rough for a night or two, but in John’s estimation Howard was too weak to last any longer than that despite all of John’s efforts to toughen him up. So he returned to the house and went about his business as if nothing untoward had happened at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard walked down the sidewalk, eliciting stares from passersby. Twitchily glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure his father hadn’t just gone back to get the car.  Finally he found an alleyway where he could lean against the wall and collect himself a bit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He tried to console himself. Tell himself to buck up. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. So he ached all over. So he was bleeding. He wasn’t in the hospital. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Blood kept dripping down the back of his throat. If he thought about it too hard he would gag. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn to the party. There was blood all over the front of the shirt. Likely hopelessly stained. And for some reason this thought nearly sent him over the edge. Almost brought him to tears. He hated being messy. And there was blood all down his front. And the shirt was ruined. Messy. Bloody. Ruined. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t really want Vince to see him this way. There would be no explaining it away this time. There was simply too much damage. But he couldn’t go home. Though the longer he stayed away the angrier his father was going to get.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean. I did say I would be back before you left,” Vince said. His trademark grin taking on a nervous cast. Not doing it’s normal charming work. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t think you meant five minutes before,” Bryan said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry Bryan.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could tell Bryan was only angry because he was scared. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What happened? Elisha said things got nasty.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wish she would have let me tell ya.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Would you have told me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...yes.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t wanna talk about it alright? I handled it. It’s fine. I’d almost put it out of my mind.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was true. As Vince walked back up the path to the cottage after Howard ran away all he could think about was why Howard had looked so terrified. And then he’d start thinking back to the kissing. Then back to Howard’s face. Kissing. Howard’s face. He’d nearly forgotten about the whole incident. He’d been so close to squashing it down deep into the dark recesses of his brain where he stored all manner of unpleasant things that chittered and screeched to be played with in the night times when he couldn’t sleep. All the greatest hits. Mommy and Daddy don’t love you and never did. You’re a slag. You’re so thick it’s a miracle you can breathe and walk at the same time. You ruined Bryan’s life. You deserve everything that happens to you. He’d been so close. But then he’d seen Bryan pacing inside the cottage with Elisha perched on a chair. Telling him everything. So close.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head. Ducking his head to hide his eyes behind his fringe.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on monkey.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan was breaking out the big guns. He’d called Vince monkey all the time when he was small, but these days he only used the old nickname when Vince was really really upset But he was fine. Howard had fixed him. He was totally fine.  He wasn’t even upset anymore. He wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince swiped a hand under his eyes and saw he was indeed crying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was all too much. So much had happened he felt like he was going to burst like a bubble. He was too full of things. Happy. Sad. Giggly. Scared. It was like he couldn’t filter. He just took everything in. And everything was just so...much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he told Bryan everything that happened. About Bainbridge and the potion. When Bryan asked how Bainbridge got it, Vince lied and told him that Bainbridge had bought it from some out of towner. He didn’t want Bryan to feel badly that it was one of their potions. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If he hadn’t been carried away on the tide of emotions he might have noticed that Bryan didn’t believe him on that last point. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan swept Vince in a hug. Then, deeming that insufficient for a kid as tactile as Vince, pulled him over to his armchair, where he sat down and pulled Vince into his lap. Vince instantly curled around him and started sobbing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry Bryan. It k-k-keeps happening.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan rubbed Vince’s shuddering shoulders. “This isn’t your fault Vince. That bastard is fixated on you but it is not your fault.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I was d-drinking and I shouldn’t have been and that’s why he did-,” Vince’s voice went so high on the last syllable it was possible only dogs could register it. He buried his face in Bryan’s shoulder. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It doesn’t matter what you were doing. He drugged you. He’s older. There was no way you could have given consent. He’s wrong. Not you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I almost ruined everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan sighed. Here they got to the heart of the matter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“With Howard?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded and Bryan felt it rather than saw it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think you could Vince. And this certainly wouldn’t do it. Howard is made of sterner stuff than that. He’s a bit odd. And a bit jumpy. And a bit pretentious. But he’ll stick with you. I feel it in my bones.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really?” Vince looked up at Bryan, his face pink and blotchy from crying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’d never blame you for this. Or did he say something different?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. He was nice about it. Like really nice.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well there you are. Even if you don’t believe me that it’s not your fault. Surely you believe Howard?” Bryan said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince smiled and you’d think nothing bad had ever happened to him in his entire life. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think I should stay here tonight,” Bryan said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan was supposed to be taking the batch of love potion he’d been brewing to a secondary brewing location. Stray was a supremely complicated love potion for wandering husbands. Not only did it require the sacrifice of a homing pigeon it also required 3 different brewing locations where the potion had to be in the correct place by the time midnight struck or it would be rendered useless. The potion only worked when each step was faithfully attended to by the same witch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince felt guilty. With all the excitement he’d forgotten that one of his lovelies had been sacrificed the night before. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Which one was it?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had not been privy to Vince’s train of thought, but he knew instantly what Vince was asking.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps it would be best if you don’t know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if Vince wouldn’t be able to figure it out the second he looked in the coop outside. But he didn’t even need to do that. He just shot Elisha a look and she told him. Marjorie.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You haveta go. Otherwise she-they died for nothing.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan shot Elisha a dirty look. She puffed up and screeched at him once.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very well. But if anything. Anything. Goes wrong you send Elisha for me. I’ll open a portal and be back in a flash.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you lock the doors.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you be safe.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded one more time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very well.” Bryan gave Vince once last squeeze. “Then I’ll be off.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The next brewing location wasn’t horribly far away but Bryan had to transport the potion on foot. Stray truly was an epic pain in the ass, but it brought in a lot of money so it had to be done. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince walked into his room and flopped on his bed. He was absolutely shattered. He felt around underneath his bed and grabbed his yellow walkman. He popped in the tape Howard had given him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A smile curled on his lips as he heard Howard’s voice.  “Howard DJ Moon comin’ at ya like a beam, like a ray, like a laser.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The tape had no B-side, so he listened to the entire A-side, twice, then fell asleep before Cars even started again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t sure how long he had been sleeping when he heard three slow knocks on his bedroom window.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There had been no answer when Howard knocked on the door to the cottage so he had circled around to the back where Vince’s window was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He saw Vince sleeping inside. Sprawled out on his bed wearing bright yellow headphones. He still hadn’t changed out of his dress. His fishnet leggings were ripped beyond repair and his hair was the messiest Howard had ever seen it. He hated to wake Vince up, hated even more for Vince to see him this way, but he didn’t know what to do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he knocked three times on the window. Vince didn’t stir.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. He was going crumbly at the edges. He was going to break soon and he really needed Vince. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knocked three more times. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shifted but still didn’t wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard decided he would try one more time and if that didn’t work he was going to go die in the woods.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock. Knock. Knock.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s eyes fluttered open. Then he focused on Howard’s face in the window and he sat up and tried to roll off the bed at the same time and ended up falling on the floor. He popped up again right in front of the window with a broad grin on his face.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But when he saw the state of Howard the grin dropped off so quickly it was almost comical. Howard was sure he would have been laughing if he wasn’t on the verge of crying. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince hoisted the window up.  He threw himself half out the window to get a good look at Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What happened?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I come in?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If Vince had been a  different kind of kid, if he’d been like Howard for instance, he might have hesitated. Bryan had created the “no one in the cottage when he was gone” rule for a very good reason. But caution was never Vince’s gift. And it was Howard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he nodded rapidly and darted around to the front door of the cottage. And whipped open the door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s nose was bleeding and had made a total mess of the front of his shirt. His eyes were red and puffy. He’d clearly been crying. His cheek was already swelling. And his palms were bleeding as well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince reached out to grab Howard’s hand but Howard snatched his hand away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t touch me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince curled his own hand back more slowly. Trying not to be hurt by Howard shrinking away from him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry,” Howard said. “I just-Not yet.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince nodded. It wasn’t Howard’s fault. Clearly something bad had happened. And after all Howard had done for him he was more than ready to return the favor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sit down. I’ll put on tea.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If I could-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t worry about it. Just sit down,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard sank down on the couch with a quiet little groan that he was clearly trying to stifle so as not to worry Vince further. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince put the kettle on then sorted through their food, trying to find something to make Howard feel better. Sweets, especially chocolate, always made him feel better when he was upset. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince, maybe I could-” Howard started. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Vince darted into his bedroom and didn’t hear the rest of what Howard said. He dropped down on the floor and pulled up the loose floorboard where he kept all his treasures and best sweets in a bewitched box only he could open. He wasn’t terribly worried about Bryan going through his things, but the spell kept out the new generation of mice who were always trying to get at his sweets and weren’t contented by the protection fees he had paid to the older generations. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He dug out the last of his truffles Bryan brought back for him from a trip to Belgium. His absolute favorite sweets. He’d been saving them. And now he knew what for.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard more than anything wanted to tidy himself up. He felt disgusting and it was making him nervous and panicky. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince came bursting out of his room. He laid down an extremely old box of chocolates on the coffee table in front of Howard. “Have as many a those as you want,” Vince said, like he was bestowing a great treasure but didn’t want to overwhelm Howard at the magnitude of it so he was downplaying it significantly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The kettle wasn’t boiling yet so Vince sat down in front of Howard, making no secret that he was staring at him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard glanced away but Vince leaned over and caught Howard’s eye again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you okay?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The kettle started whistling, but Vince ignored it, still staring at Howard. Dried blood made Howard’s shirt stick to his chest, and it plucked at him every time he moved. His nose was stuffed with snot and blood. The kettle was whistling. And Vince was staring. And he was having a hard time breathing. And the kettle was whistling. And Vince was staring. His mouth tasted of red copper. And the kettle was whistling. And Vince was staring.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And suddenly Howard pitched forward. Clutching at his neck and chest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s face went red, so red it was moving toward purple.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard! What is it? Are you hurt?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded. Then shook his head. He stood up. Covering his face. He finally drew in one protracted shuddery breath.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But another did not follow. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince lunged forward and reached for Howard. Howard swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” Howard screamed, though there was no strength behind it because he didn’t have enough air.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince recoiled. What could he do? Howard was having some sort of attack, far worse than the one he’d seen the day they dyed his hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard breathe. You’ve gotta breathe.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince took in a large breath and blew it out to show him how it was done.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on Howard, breathe for me yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s voice broke through the whistling kettle and pounding in Howard’s ears. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s okay. Whatever happened. It’s over now. Just breathe.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard drew in a breath. Then blew it out, counting to ten in his mind. He drew in another breath and that one was much steadier.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His head pounded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he felt like he was coming back to himself. He could see the room through an opening larger than a pinhole. He could see Vince’s eyes, generally large, now nearly bugging out of his skull with worry. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stalked across the room and shoved the kettle off the burner. Then he turned on his heel and ran to the toilet. He tried to slam the door behind him but it bounced back open. He barely made it before he threw up in the toilet.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was beside him in an instant, continuously forgetting then remembering that Howard didn’t want to  be touched. Another thing Howard was sure would be comical under other circumstances. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard collapsed down, hugging the porcelain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince got into the cupboards and grabbed a flannel. He wet it in the sink.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard? Is it alright if I clean your face?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded. His curls were plastered to his forehead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sat down on the cold tile and daubed at Howard’s nose and mouth. Wiping away the worst of the blood. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Vince wiped away some sick from around his mouth.  He was disgusting. But Vince didn’t seem to mind at all, he just hissed in sympathetic pain as some of the dried blood tugged at the sensitive skin around Howard’s nostrils. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was dying to ask Howard what happened, but knew that wouldn’t be right. Howard would tell him when he was ready. And if he was never ready that was okay too. He wouldn’t pry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wouldn’t!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“So what happened?” Vince asked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to clout himself in the head. Howard was so much better at this than him. Howard had made him feel better straight away and he was absolutely rubbish. All he’d managed so far was to send Howard into a panic attack.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could say that, but Howard didn’t believe him. Eventually Vince was going to want an explanation. He was too curious. He was always filled with a million questions. “Was Babe Pig in the City based on a true story? How do magnets work? What’s tofu made out of? Are the black bits in bananas taratula’s eggs?” He would of course do his best not to press but eventually he just wouldn’t be able to resist.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had asked about Howard’s various injuries before and Howard had always lied, because while Vince was very curious he was also a bit gullible. If Howard had been in a better place emotionally he might have decided to examine his need to lie to Vince when Vince had trusted him with, not one, but two major secrets. But he was not in a better place emotionally so he decided to keep lying, as it had worked tremendously thus far. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bainbridge,” Howard said, “He jumped me on the walk home.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He had not meant to say that. He’d meant to conjure up some unknown assailant. Some menacing creature formed by seaweed and the spirit of funk. But the name was gone from his lips and there was no pulling it back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince gasped, “Oh Howard, I’m so sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s alright,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now e’s after you too, this is all my fault,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well,” Howard said, already regretting the lie, “I wouldn’t say that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t be a hero Howard, e’d never have done this if he wasn’t tryin’ to get at me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shot to his feet. He started pacing around the small bathroom.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard, generally the champion of thinking things through to their undoubtedly grisly conclusion, had not thought this through.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m ‘onna slash ‘im up,” Vince said, his accent thickening as he grew more and more angry. “I’ll do ’im up real nice. Thinks he can hurt my-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At this Vince’s eyes darted to Howard then back forward again. What had he been about to say?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thinks he can ‘urt you ‘e’s got another fing comin’.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince, calm down. It’s alright.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not alright!” Vince cried. “Look at the state of ya!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then seeming to realize this was a rather insensitive thing to say he collapsed in on himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m really sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s really not your fault,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince propped up one corner of his mouth in the facsimile of a smile. “Thanks Howard.” He leaned over and stuck his hand out to help Howard up. “How about you take a shower and I’ll make us some breakfast.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re going to cook?” Howard asked, taking a stab at levity. At normality.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How very dare you. I am an excellent cook,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew what Howard was doing, trying to distract him with banter. He’d play along if that was what it took for Howard to feel better. It would also give him more time to think about what he was going to do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go wash. I’ll put out some of Bryan’s stuff for ya,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nothing too flamboyant right?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll make it as boring and ugly as my artistic sensibilities will allow.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled and it nearly broke Vince’s heart. It was hesitant and small. The area underneath his nose was still red as Vince had been scared to scrub hard enough to remove it completely. Vince just wanted to wrap him up into the tightest hug in the world and never ever ever let him go, but he didn’t. He let Howard go get tidied up, laid out Bryan’s most tame trousers and a white button down shirt, and set about making some food. Determined it would be the best breakfast Howard had ever had, even though Vince was lying and he was actually a disastrous cook. He would make it work through sheer force of will. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pancakes. He could do pancakes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard woke up on the doorstep of his father’s house. His head was pounding. What the devil had happened? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. That’s right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>gone to the pub and got so drunk he could barely stand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>completely botched things with Vince. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>gotten into a brawl with Dixon Bloody Bainbridge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had Bainbridge been saying to him last night? Between the drink and the head injury Howard was having a hard time recalling. He’d told him to stay away from Vince, which was an old saw he’d been hearing since he was a kid. But he’d said something else. Something that niggled at Howard’s mind. He didn’t think Bainbridge had meant to reveal as much as he had. His arrogance made him sloppy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was planning something. Something involving Vince. He had to warn Vince!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had made it fairly clear that he wasn’t keen for Howard’s help. And Howard really couldn’t blame him. But this was more important. Vince could be in danger. And Howard loved Vince, even if Vince didn’t feel the same way anymore. He would protect Vince, as he’d failed to do all those years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tried to stand up but every time he straightened up the earth began to spin a lot faster than was scientifically feasible. He found if he walked sort of crouched over and listing to the right rather heavily he could move without going into the future. He made his slow way back to Vince’s cottage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got a lot of stares due to his strange posture and gait, but he didn’t give a toss. He had to get to Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince awoke completely disorientated. As he always did when he slept for too long. He felt more like he was rising from a coma than the little sleepy he’d been planning. He was a mess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he remembered what had awoken him in the first place. Loud banging at the door. Probably someone freaking out because they’d run out of acne cream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it was back to business as usual he supposed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wrenched himself to his feet, tightening his kimono, his hair defying gravity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright! Keep your hair on, I’m coming.” He padded across the large main room to reach the door. He pulled it open. And standing before him was “Howard!” He squawked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he slammed the door in Howard’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince.” Howard knocked gently on the door. “Vince. Can I please come in. It’s important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince leaned backwards on the door. Howard had come back. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined everything after all. On the walk home the night before he’d felt like an idiot. He really needed to get a handle on his emotions. But it turned out that repressing for 20 years was not as great for his state of mind as he’d always been led to believe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Past Vince might have thought he had good reasons for telling off Howard but Past Vince was a berk. Present Vince was ready to take a whack at not being a twat. He turned around. Ready to pull the door open again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince, are you still there?” Howard’s voice had a pleading quality to it. “Vince, it’s really important. It’s Bainbridge. He’s up to something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. He wasn’t back because he’d realized they should be together forever. He was just doing the right thing. The proper thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince knew he should feel happy. Howard was trying to look out for him. Which meant he cared. But in his heart of hearts he’d been hoping for some sort of romantic declaration. Where Howard would say that he loved him and wasn’t leaving this time and he was sorry for everything that happened all those years ago. Then Vince could say he was sorry too and he’d never stopped thinking about Howard and then they’d be together and it would be perfect and wonderful and all the pain and confusion would have been worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been taught a thousand times in a thousand ways that he should just take what he could get and be happy. Howard standing at his door for the second time in so many days was honestly more than he’d ever expected. Though not more than he dreamed of. Oh no. But you get what you get and you don’t get upset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least maybe they could be friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He arranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral position and opened the door. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the past, Vince takes matters into his own hands. In the present, Vince and Howard finally talk.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After Howard was out of the shower he pulled on Bryan’s trousers and shirt. He found his hands hurt too much to button up the shirt so he left it hanging open and  quietly opened the restroom door to rejoin Vince in the main room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was standing by the stove , bopping along to the synthesizer in his brain as he guarded the pancake he was cooking. His hair was all flat in back. His dress was rumpled, his dirty socks and ripped tights still on. His eyeliner was smudgy and there was a faint smear of lipstick on his chin. He didn’t think he had ever seen Vince wear the same outfit for so long. Spending time with Vince meant doing a lot of sitting around and waiting during the periodic wardrobe changes. Howard had expected to come out of the bathroom to find Vince in a full face of makeup and a spangly jumpsuit. But the unthinkable had happened. Vince Noir wasn’t worrying about what he looked like. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Vince turned around to find Howard standing there with his shirt hanging open like he was bleedin’ Colin Firth he dropped the spatula he was holding. He ducked down to get it and when he rose again his face was bright red. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Vince noticed Howard’s hands. His lovely lovely hands. “Oh Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince rushed over and took Howard’s hands in his own. Examining them. In the shower he had washed away caked dirt and dried blood so his palms had started bleeding again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s alright. They don’t even hurt,” Howard lied.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“These look well nasty,” Vince said. “Come over here, I’ll get you sorted.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince gently pulled Howard over to the table and sat him down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince walked over to the sale shelf. He grabbed a couple bottles and a little tub along with a clean cloth, then walked back over to Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He carefully arranged his supplies.  Setting out his supplies always had a calming effect on Vince. Beauty supplies. Sewing supplies. Art supplies. Potion supplies. It made him feel more in control. It also helped him not get distracted. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “Hands please,” he said softly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard laid his hands on the table.  Then he looked out the window, it was getting dark outside. Looked like rain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince pulled the little stopper out of a bottle filled with purple potion. Then he carefully poured the potion on the cloth. He swiped the cloth over one of Howard’s hands.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s hand felt cool and no longer stung. He flexed his hands a couple times while Vince repeated the process with the other.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a squeeze on his heart. This was his fault. Howard’s lovely hands, with their long fingers perfect for playing music, were torn to shreds. His handsome face was swollen and bruised. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was going to be a reckoning with Bainbridge. But first he was going to take care of Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince opened the tub. The putty inside was a delicate pale green. He loved the smell of it and it helped him calm down a bit. To him it smelled like the forest after rain. It was the very first potion Bryan ever taught him to make. A healing salve. He had been 10. At first Vince had been a little disappointed. He’d wanted his first potion to be something cool like a beauty potion or one that made you grow ram’s legs. Bryan said that was a bit advanced and he needed to start with something simple. Vince would get so frustrated when he would mess up. Misreading the ingredients or mixing up the steps. The letters just kept flipping around on the page. The teachers at school had always said he was stupid and they were right so he might as well just give up. He was never going to get it. But Bryan would just calmly tell him to start again.  Now Vince could make the potion all on his own. He didn’t even need to look at the recipe. He had it memorized. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Within a few minutes all of the abrasions on Howard’s hands would be gone.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince ran his fingers down Howard’s palm. Howard shivered a bit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Any better?” Vince asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes,” Howard said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince opened the last potion bottle. The liquid inside was a deep murky blue. He held it out to Howard. “Drink this.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What does this one do?” Howard asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’’ll make you feel better.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hesitated. Perversely he didn’t really want to feel better. He felt that if he was going to keep lying to Vince at the very least he should continue to feel awful in every way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s safe. I promise,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. It’s not that. I-” Howard, with no way to explain himself,  cut himself off and downed the potion. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A heavy weight lifted off Howard’s chest. He felt like he was actually breathing for the first time in hours maybe days or weeks or years. He slumped back in the chair, sinking lower and lower until he was practically sliding out of the chair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s amazing,” Howard said. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. He sounded younger. Relaxed. He hadn’t sounded that way in a very very long time. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince grinned at him. “It’s good idn’t it? Bryan invented it. All the other witches were well impressed. And let me tell you, they ain’t easy to impress. Even Naboo cracked a smile. And I’m pretty sure he ain’t smiled since the 70’s.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard heard the pride in Vince’s voice. There’d been a time when he’d been proud of his father as well. When his father had been his hero. Back before he’d started leaving marks on Howard’s face. And for quite a while after, as ashamed as he was to admit it. Big. Strong. A proper action man. His father had served in the military before returning home to marry his mother and work in a factory in Leeds.  When he was little Howard wanted to be just like his father. He and his father went camping and fishing and, on one particularly humiliating occasion, hunting. It became painfully clear that Howard was not cut out to be an action man. He was actually rather “indoorsy”. He liked the idea of animals and hiking and adventure more than he liked the reality. And if given the choice he would much rather play music. His dad saw him as soft. And that had broken Howard’s heart when he was little. But then he’d seen what his father did to his mother. And he didn’t see him as a hero anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Generally this line of thinking would put him in a melancholy mood for the rest of the day. But with the blue potion his father’s abuse seemed of no more import than a passing bumblebee.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince poured more of the purple potion onto the cloth and dabbed at Howard’s face with it. He bit his lip in concentration. There was a little furrow in his brow. Howard’s face felt better and his nose didn’t hurt as much. Vince carefully swiped the green putty from the tub around Howard’s nose and eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thunder rolled in the distance. Then it started pouring rain.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard expected the fire in the center of the room to start steaming and sizzling as the rain fell through the massive open skylight but no rain did fall through. Howard glanced at the windows. Maybe the rain wasn’t as close as he’d thought? But he could hear it pattering on the roof. And he could see drops gathering and falling on the windows. It seemed that the skylight just repelled the rain whilst still allowing the multicolored smoke and steam to rise. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s in the cauldron?” He asked. It smelled like rosehips and lavender.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“JAM Jam. You spread it on your toast, and for a few days you got perfect pitch. Couldn’t sing a sour note if you tried,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sell a lot of that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. Get a lot of celebrities puttin’ in orders. You’d be shocked with who uses it when they’ve got a gig.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Basically one outta three contestants on Star Search. Every single Miss Universe. And Peter Frampton buys it in bulk. Though, if you could not mention that to anyone. Bryan had to sign an NDA.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll not breathe a word.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He looked down at his hands and the scrapes were gone. He supposed he could button up his shirt now. But bizarrely he felt no motivation to do so. Generally he got very uncomfortable when people saw his chest. He had a sort of weird mole and he was just generally very insecure about his body. He was too skinny where he should be muscled and too fat where he should be skinny. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>An acrid smell filled the air. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Somethin’s burnin’,” Howard said, but didn’t fly into a panic the way he generally would. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The pancakes!” Vince shot out of his seat and went to the stove. He pulled the pan off the burner and threw the whole lot into the sink. “‘M sorry Howard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s all right little man.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince beamed at him. “Your face is lookin’ better. Potion is doing it’s work. Wanna see?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Without waiting for an answer Vince raced to his room. He came back with four different mirrors.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smirked. “I think one mirror would have sufficed, Vince.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. But these other mirrors are well cool. See this one?” He held up a large antique hand mirror with a porcelain rose and ivy pattern on the back. “Show’s what you’ll look like when you’re older.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And what is the appeal of that?” Howard asked. He knew he was going to end up looking just like his father, except fatter because he wasn’t athletic in the slightest. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, you can sort of plan for it yeah? Make some changes. Like before I started moisturizin’ everyday the mirror showed me that I was gonna look like a leathery old man witch.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And now?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A beautiful old  witch.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could have told you that. Don’t need any magic mirror to know you’ll always be beautiful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To Howard’s delight, Vince went bright pink. “Do you really mean that Howard?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nodded gravely.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I bet you’ll look well handsome,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard snorted. “Doubt it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Only one way to know for sure yeah?” Vince held up the mirror then he crowded in next to Howard, crouching down,  so that he could see both of them at the same time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It took Howard’s breath away. To see older versions of himself and Vince with their heads pressed together in the mirror. His mind ran away, imagining the future they might share that would bring them to the two smiling figures in the mirror. He had a mustache. A thick one. His hair was longer and he had crows feet around his eyes. He looked fine, he supposed. But Vince...Vince looked stunning. He’d filled out a bit. Lost the teenaged gawkiness. Somehow his eyes seemed even bigger. Every angle of his very angular face was perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t look away. He knew the smile curling across his face looked daft (though less daft on the older figure on the mirror) but he couldn’t help it. They just looked so...right, standing next to each other.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince laid his head on Howard’s shoulder and the older Vince in the mirror did the same.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Told you it was cool,” he murmured as he pressed his lips into Howard’s shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You may have undersold it a bit, little man,” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince set the mirror down and kissed Howard. He cupped his palm to Howard’s cheek very gently, careful not to press too hard in case Howard’s face was still tender. Howard had no such qualms. He hooked one hand around the back of Vince’s head and pressed him closer and closer. Vince’s nose mashing into his cheek. Vince’s breath huffing across his skin. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince darted his tongue out, licking Howard’s lower lip before biting down on it. Howard moaned into his mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s knees were starting to bitch from being crouched down too long beside Howard’s chair. He slowly rose and Howard maintained the contact until Vince was towering over him, kissing him from above. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Reluctantly Vince pulled back. He grinned at Howard’s whine as they broke contact. It was just so unbelievably hot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He grabbed Howard’s hand and pulled Howard over to the couch. He gently shoved Howard and the couch caught him at the back of the knees and he fell into the cushions. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince climbed on top of Howard, running his hands through those dark curls. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s hands roved up and down his back before dropping to his arse. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s breath hitched as Howard’s hands dropped to his thighs. His fingers getting caught in the fishnets. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard decided to take a page out of Vince’s playbook and he bit down and pulled just a little on Vince’s bottom lip with his teeth. He was rewarded when Vince shuddered into him and his hands flew to Howard’s chest dragging downward. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard hooked his arm around Vince’s waist and twisted so Vince was lying down and Howard was on top of him. Vince’s legs automatically wrapped around Howard’s waist. He draped his arms around Howard’s neck and pulled him down to his mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince might hate to hear it, but kissing him was like jazz. Howard loved music but the only time he blissed out, took off, started experimenting, was when he played jazz. Kissing everyone else was like playing Rock and Roll or Top 40. Just playing the notes. When he kissed Vince he wanted to try things. He had ideas. Like rucking up Vince’s dress so he could get at the pale skin of Vince’s stomach. Or giving Vince a rather large hickey on his pale neck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince ran his finger over the spot, already knowing it was going to form. “I’ll have to wear an Isadora Duncan scarf or everyone will think I’m a tart.” He looked absolutely thrilled by the idea.  He licked his incisors in a way Howard found almost cruel in its sexiness. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eventually their kisses grew slow and slothful. Sweet and lazy. Vince could tell Howard was barely staying awake. His tiny eyes looking even tinier as he squinted in  a foregone battle not to fall asleep. Vince slowly worked around so Howard was lying on the couch with Vince on top of him. Howard ran his fingers through Vince’s hair as Vince pressed kisses up his neck and jawline. Just before Howard fell asleep Vince placed one last sweet kiss to his lips. Howard fell asleep with a smile on his face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince laid on top of Howard for a few moments. His head pressed to Howard’s chest. Listening to his big strong heart thumping away in his chest. Feeling the rise and fall of Howard’s chest. Loving the weight of Howard’s arm thrown over his back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once he was sure Howard wasn’t going to stir, Vince sat up. He carefully laid Howard’s arm down onto his chest, then stood up. He went into his bedroom and grabbed his quilt. He draped it over Howard.  Then he went into Bryan’s room, using the ward breaker spell Bryan didn’t know he knew to break into the cabinet where Bryan kept all of the dangerous potions and spells. He grabbed a couple things, went back into the main room to kiss Howard’s forehead, then left the cottage. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince opened the door a couple inches, only enough for Howard to see one blue eye. The hesitance squeezed Howard’s heart. As if he expected Howard to have second thoughts and turn tail yet again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stood still, trying to come off as firm and immovable so Vince could see he wasn’t going to go anywhere. He tried to channel sturdy oak trees and blue mountains. It appeared to do the trick because Vince opened the door wider.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince chewed on his bottom lip and stood in the doorway. “Wha’s goin’ on?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got into a fight with Bainbridge last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince snorted. “I heard that one before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That stung. But he couldn’t really blame Vince. If Howard had just been honest with him all those years ago, the way Vince had been honest with him, then they might have avoided a lot of pain. Or maybe not. Maybe things would have played out exactly the same. Or worse. But maybe not. And it was that “what if” that tortured Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really needed to stop being a brat. Howard was trying to protect him. He could have just fucked off and not said anything. Just let whatever was going to happen, happen. And knowing Bainbridge it would be bad. The birds had warned him something was coming.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decided to plow on. He’d make Vince see that he was telling the truth. Make him understand the danger he was in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After, um, after you left the pub last night. I went in and kept drinking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Horrible choice really,” Vince said. Then he gave Howard a small smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There. See? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>capable of not being a massive titbox. If he really put his mind to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dad’s house was too depressing,” Howard replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said it with such a strange blunt sadness. Vince wondered how he felt about his father being dead. He really hadn’t thought of it at all. God he was selfish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come inside.” Vince stepped back and allowed Howard back into the cottage. They were off to quite the decent start. Though he felt so stiff. Unnatural. But he had absolutely no idea how to fix it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stepped in before Vince could change his mind. His shoulders sagged with relief. Vince was going to listen. He could keep Vince safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tea?” Vince asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded. “Thanks.” He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, wringing his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna sit down?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yes.” Howard sat down in a kitchen chair, at the very edge of the seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The awkwardness hung heavy in the air and Howard was not sure how to dispel it. And Vince didn’t seem inclined to help so for a few minutes the only sound in the cottage was Vince clattering around in the kitchen, setting out mugs and spoons for sugar and all the other necessities for tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you-” “Vince I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both fell silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you take your tea?” Vince asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yes. Two sugars. Well three. Sod it eight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like to admit it but Howard also had a bit of a sweet tooth that had only gotten worse once he quit smoking. And when he was stressed he really went to town on it. And the last few days had been nothing if not stressful. Once things had settled down a bit he would dwindle back down to two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince smirked and added the sugar to Howard’s tea. “Think I’ll have the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince carried the two mugs over to the table. Howard scrambled to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a lady Howard. You don’t gotta rise whenever I come to the table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. I mean you sort of are though,” Howard said. Sliding into banter, as they always had before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. He’d offended him. How dare he act like he knew Vince. Like everything was okay. He was about to launch into a profuse apology when Vince huffed a soft laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had inadvertently taken a pin and popped the balloon of tension. Now they could both breathe at least a little easier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Vince slid Howard’s tea over to him. “So what’s got your knickers all in a bunch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bainbridge is planning something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. You said that. Do you know anything else?” Vince asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um. Well. He’s been planning it for years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked distinctly unimpressed with his intel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s been waiting for the right opportunity. And he has it now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay...and?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it’s all very serious! We’ve got to do something!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince couldn’t help it. He started giggling. Howard was basically the worst spy in the world. Honestly, the bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>birds </span>
  </em>
  <span>had told him more than Howard. He knew he should be worried. He knew he should be panicking. Bainbridge was out to get him and it seemed he was finally getting ready to make his move, but it was all. Just. So. Funny. So he laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then when he saw Howard’s outraged face he started laughing even harder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. Or he was possibly having some sort of episode. A mental breakdown. The strain of it all had finally caused him to snap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince! This is serious! He could hurt you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince clamped down his teeth on his bottom lip in an effort to stop laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it is Howard, honest I do. It’s just-what can we do? We got no idea what he’s plannin’ or when he’s going to do it. When you showed up I guess I thought maybe he’d villain monologued you the whole plan or summat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People don’t villain monologue their entire plans Vince. This is the real world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright! The real world can be strange as well. You ain’t seen the whole world. You don’t know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Against his better judgment Howard’s lips started to twitch up into a smile. He tried to get them to point downward again. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You thought he had me tied to a log in a lumber mill and as he was getting ready to cut me in half with the circle saw he told me the entire plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince adopted a playfully defensive stance. “No. I thought he tied you to some railroad tracks and a train was coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And in your mind how did I get out of this predicament?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. You tell me! You were the one always goin’ on about how he’s a man of action.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s because I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you done that’s so actiony? You apparently haven’t escaped any train tracks or circle saws. Have you even run away from a single giant boulder?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have in fact. Well it was more of a rock. A pebble. But it was moving very aggressively and nearly killed me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Escapin’ a booby trapped temple were ya?” Licking his molars like he always did when taking the piss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost felt like old times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince stood in front of Bainbridge’s front yard. Trembling with rage. The rain flattened Vince’s hair, turning him into a bedraggled crow, but he didn’t care. Bainbridge would pay for what he’d done to Howard. No one was ever going to hurt Howard again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince surged forward, ready to enter the house. He’d already checked to make sure Bainbridge was home and, just as importantly, alone.  It occured to Vince that he should have brought Elisha or Howard. But Elisha would go tell Bryan, and Bryan would stop him. And Howard.  Well. He didn’t want Howard anywhere near this. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And at this point it was too late because these thoughts didn’t occur to him until he’d already turned the handle and entered the house. He was already halfway to the sitting room with a potion bottle  in his hand cocked back and ready to fire, with more nestled in his other arm. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello? Someone there?” Bainbridge asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. He just kept moving until he entered the sitting room to find Bainbridge halfway rising out of his chair, where he’d been reading.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge looked up to see Vince and he smiled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sit back down,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. I knew you couldn’t stay away.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge sat down, eyeing Vince appraisingly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t get the chance to tell you how good you looked last night.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince felt a blush rising up his face and wished he could fight it back down. He didn’t want Bainbridge mistaking it for pleasure when it was the result of disgust, rage, and embarrassment.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince threw one of the potions and it connected with Bainbridge’s chest. He flopped backward into the armchair. Boneless like a fish. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He tried to sit up several times, but found he couldn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did you do, you little slut?” Bainbridge snarled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Exactly what you deserve,” Vince said. His heart thrumming in his chest. With fear. Yes. But also with something close to ecstasy. His rage so pure it was cleansing. Incandescent. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please. You loved every second.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not to me you twat. To Howard!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I never touched your little boyfriend.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince threw another potion at Bainbridge. This one made rather painful sores appear on a very private area. “Liar!” Vince screamed. “I saw the blood. I saw the bruises. I saw what you did!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!” Bainbridge screamed right back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was a bit worked up. And Bainbridge was a right prick. So Vince could and should be forgiven for missing the look of genuine confusion on Bainbridge’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge tried to rock his way to his feet, but could not even build up enough muscle strength to roll out of the chair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then the sores started to crop up and he wasn’t talking much after that. Bainbridge howled in pain, but due to the paralytic nature of the first potion he couldn’t move a muscle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince backed out of the room. Bainbridge might be paralyzed for the moment, but the potion didn’t last very long. Besides. You never turned your back on a snake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You undo this right now!” Bainbridge yelled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shouldn’t ‘a hurt Howard,” Vince murmured, more to himself than Bainbridge.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn-ah-ah-aaaaaaah!” Bainbridge shrieked as the sores got worse. They would swell and erupt painfully for a few weeks then he’d be good as new. Or at least as good as a piece of shit like Bainbridge was capable of being.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince left the house, ignoring Bainbridge’s voice as it echoed down the hallway “You’re going to pay for this!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard woke up on the couch, completely disorientated. It was almost nighttime. The light in the cottage was cold and gray save for the dying embers of the fire for the cauldron. Right. He was at Vince’s. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where was Vince?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard climbed off the couch. His legs, still stupid with sleep, wobbled and nearly sent him sprawling into the fire. But he caught himself at the last moment.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where had he gone? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was steady enough to flick on the light. He walked to Vince’s bedroom. Empty. As was Bryan’s.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard tried his best to keep his anxiety under control. Surely Vince had run to the store for supplies. Or down to the lake for some air. He had to feed the animals. He’d be back soon. Wherever he was. He’d be back soon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shockingly enough he was succeeding in calming himself down. Perhaps that potion was still active in his system. He’d have to ask Bryan about buying it in bulk. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, he’d just have tea on for whenever Vince came back from wherever he was. There was nothing better than a cup of tea after a rainstorm. Except for maybe a cigarette. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A smoke sounded absolutely heavenly. It would help his nerves even more than the potion had. And he’d be able to keep better watch for Vince. So it was all agreed. Smoke. Then tea.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard found an old wrought iron lawn chair to the side of the house; grass had anchored the chair to the ground. Howard sat down, ignoring the cold water soaking into his seat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He smoked a cigarette. Relishing the night air on his face as he jetted white smoke up into the sky. Once he finished that one he decided he needed another. He had a lot to think about. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What was he going to do? He was going to have to go home eventually. And he was certain his father meant to really hurt him this time. Maybe he could get his mother to come and get him? Surely if he explained the situation she would come get him. His dear old mum, with the sad eyes and the tired smile. With the dark circles and the swollen feet. Working three jobs and after four years she still hadn’t paid off the solicitor fees from the divorce. It was a Sunday. Christy was it only Sunday? So she’d be working at the cafe. She worked there on the weekends. She was a supply teacher 3 days a week and she cleaned people’s houses the other two days. Who could she call to cover? How much would it hurt their finances for her to miss a shift? Two years ago she’d had to miss a couple shifts because both she and Howard had come down with the flu. After that they’d had to eat pot noodle for weeks to get back on track. Things had gotten better since he’d joined the band. He’d felt so proud the first time he’d given his mother his earnings from a wedding gig. It tore him up that he hadn’t been there this summer to help. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t want to make things worse for his mum. But he couldn’t stay with his dad.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d been chain smoking for twenty minutes when he saw Vince ambling up the lane. It was too dark to see his face, but he would recognize the gait anywhere, the sloping saunter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince! Where have you been?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry Howard, I was hopin’ to be back before you woke up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince reached the cottage, the soft glow from the windows illuminating his face. He looked wired. His hands were shaking as he paced in a tight circle. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where were you?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I went to Bainbridge’s,” Vince said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You what?!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I had ta do somethin’, ‘e only came after you cause a’ me. And I showed ‘im what’ll happen.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. No. No. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did you do?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It was amazin’ Howard. I hit ‘im right in the chest. Froze ‘im up solid. Then I hit him with a herpes curse. It don’ last forever, but it is wicked painful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince continued to describe the scene. What he’d done to Bainbridge but all Howard could hear was the ringing in his own ears. Vince had attacked Banbridge. Had put himself in danger. For Howard. Because of his damn lie. Because he was too scared to tell Vince the truth about his father. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was thankful he was already sitting down. Otherwise he might have collapsed. He felt ill.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he felt small but powerful hands press into his back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you alright Howard? Are you still hurting? I can get you more potion.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard wanted to scream “Don’t touch me! “Don’t be nice to me! I don’t deserve it. I’m a liar.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he didn’t. He just nodded miserably and allowed Vince to help him to his feet and lead him back inside. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince poured some more of the painkiller potion onto the flannel from earlier and when he asked Howard where he hurt Howard just pointed very vaguely at his entire upper half. Refusing to meet Vince’s eyes. So Vince dabbed at several places on Howard’s body that looked bruised. And when he asked if that helped Howard nodded, but didn’t say anything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was acting off. Not shaken and upset like earlier. More shifty. But Vince didn’t think much of it. Howard had had quite a shocker. That was probably all it was. Though his demeanor did make Vince a bit nervous to present his proposal to Howard. Worried Howard was going to be more likely to say no. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had occurred to Vince on the walk back to the cottage that after what he’d done to Bainbridge he wasn’t going to be able to stay in town. Otherwise he was going to be in a world of trouble. So he’d decided to run away. He was nearly grown anyway. And Bryan would understand. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well. No. Actually Bryan would be furious. And tell him he was being an idiot and that he was putting himself in tremendous danger. That the only thing keeping him safe from his family was staying in the village that he hadn’t left since he was five years old. He knew all this. But Vince was willing to take the risk. Anything to get away from these people who hated him. To see something, anything, different. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he was leaving. And he wanted Howard to come with him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had to tell him. He had to tell Vince the truth before this got any worse. And it was already plenty bad. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard, I’m gettin’ outta here,” Vince said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard snapped back to the conversation. “What?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m runnin’ away and I was um-,” Vince bit his lip and twirled a lock of his hair around his finger nervously, “I was hopin’ you’d come wiv me.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But what could Howard say? Sorry, I tricked you into ripping your life apart. Yes, bang out of order the way I lied to your face and now you are literally no longer safe in your home. Running away is a horrible idea. There is no way it’s going to work. What on earth were you thinking? Have you ever once stopped to think before acting? I’m so sorry, I got angry just then, this is not your fault, none of this is your fault I’m so bloody sorry. I can’t go with you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He couldn’t say any of that. And all he wanted in that moment was to make Vince happy. To make the look of hope in his eyes turn to joy. To make that big sunshine smile take over his face in that alluringly terrifying or was it terrifyingly alluring way. For Vince to throw his arms around Howard’s neck and kiss him again. He wanted all that for Vince. And he wanted it for himself. He wanted it so badly. More badly than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he said yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At first Vince literally could not believe it. When Howard said it, he thought maybe he had wished for it so hard that he’d had an auditory hallucination. When you want something this bad it always seems impossible you’ll get it. Because that kind of want does not spring from a sure thing. Only the underdog, the long shot, the dark horse can want something this badly. The ones who knew the chances were slim but dared to dream. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say it one more time,” Vince said. And if the look on his face wasn’t 100% sincere Howard would have assumed he was taking the piss. He wasn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. I’ll come with you,” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard did not get the expected big grin and hug. It went quite a bit beyond that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince literally started jumping up and down. And that did not seem to be enough to properly convey his excitement so he grabbed Howard’s hands to get him to jump up and down too. He was too excited to notice that Howard was not jumping, that Howard’s gaze was lost somewhere in the middle distance. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince let go of Howard’s hands and Howard quickly rearranged his features into a surprisingly lifelike facsimile of a smile. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now the full force of the sunshine grin. “We can leave tomorrow. Before Bryan gets back. I’ve gotta go pack. Then we’ll have ta go get your stuff.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No!” Howard said, loudly, then modulated, “no. I’ll go by myself. It’ll be faster.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quite sure. Yes. I’ll go in the morning.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Genius. Then you can help me pack! I figure I’m only going to be able to pack 100 outfits max and that’s if I only pack my absolutely essential accessories.”</span>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were getting on so well that Howard had to torpedo it. He’d accepted that as part of his nature a long time ago.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to do something,” Howard said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile promptly dropped off Vince’s face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t have to do anything Howard,” he said acidly, “I have to do something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That hit Howard like a breeze block of pain, but he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. I want to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fink you’ve helped enough, don’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look little man-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shot to his feet. “Don’t. Alright? Don’t call me that. I don’t understand what you’re doing here. You’re doin’ my head in. You left without sayin’ goodbye. I’ve spent twenty years wonderin’ what happened. What went wrong. Do you got any idea what that feels like? Not knowin’? And then you’re back. Then you leave. Now you’re back again. I’m just so confused. And it hurts. It just hurts so bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt like a teenager again. His emotions were all over the place. He thought he’d spent enough time over the years thinking about what he would say if Howard ever came back but now that Howard was here everything flew out the window. He felt like he had been magically transformed into the stroppy teenager he had been. He was spinning in a million directions and couldn’t find any purchase. Angry. Happy. Scared. Confused. He felt all of these and yet none of them were sufficient for how he really felt. As a kid he’d liked to make up words when he felt that the proper words weren’t quite doing the trick but his teachers told him that words were pointless if no one else knew what they meant. But he wished he had some made up words now. And that he could make Howard understand what they meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded stiffly. “Right. Yes. Then I’ll go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Vince wailed. He nearly stamped his foot in frustration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was making a mess of this. A true mess of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was not the best at reading people. He found them confusing. Like a book written in a foreign language or the appeal of Mariah Carrey. He just didn’t get it. But the way Vince was acting now. Well. That was like a book that was in a foreign language and was also in code and being read backwards by a computer that only had the loosest of grasps on the rules of pronunciation. First Vince wanted him to go. Then stay. One minute he was laughing. The next he was furious. It was impossible for Howard to get a read. It was all too confusing. And when Howard Moon was confused. He got defensive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard bristled with irritation. “What do you want Vince? Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. Just please don’t go. Please. Stay with me. I just. Need a moment alright? Don’t go anywhere. Please don’t go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And without waiting for Howard to respond, Vince disappeared into the bathroom. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vince finally learns what happened all those years ago.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard didn’t imagine that he had been much help packing. As Vince tried on outfit after outfit, demanding his opinion of each, he simply nodded and said it looked lovely. Vince would grin at him and throw the outfit on the take pile. There were only two items so far in the leave pile, a pink t-shirt that was about 2 sizes too small and a billowy green hoodie flecked with paint, and Vince kept inching those items toward the take pile with his toe when he thought Howard wasn’t looking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Around two in the morning Vince started yawning. The span of time between outfits grew longer and longer. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard startled when Vince plopped into his lap. He’d found a very interesting spot on the wall and had been staring at it for the last twenty minutes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He recovered quite well though and wrapped his arms around Vince’s waist. Vince was now wearing striped pyjama bottoms and a holey t-shirt with a cartoon dog on it. He’d cleaned off his makeup and brushed out his hair while Howard wasn’t paying attention. He was so soft and small in Howard’s arms. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince looked up at him. His eyes looked impossibly large. Howard loved every inch of him. His crooked smile and even more crooked nose. The long burn scar on his stomach. His stubby fingers that he only mentioned in comparison with Howard’s “proper musicians hands”. His long beautiful hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A soft smile curled across Vince’s face. “What?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard leaned down and kissed him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The kiss wasn’t as intense as earlier, or the night before, but it was lovely. Soft. It made him feel safe. A kiss that seemed to say that these feelings wouldn’t change. They were real. They were sturdy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Vince was in the air. Howard was holding him bridal style. Carrying him to the bedroom.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mighty forward don’t ya think?” He said, “Great northern beast dragging off the fair maiden. To have his way wiv her.” He traced his finger down Howard’s neck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard smiled faintly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think the maiden could hold her own, but we’d better go to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. A difficult day. We need to rest.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was just tired. He was sure of it. He wasn’t having second thoughts. He wasn’t going to change his mind. He was just tired. Vince tried to push the worries from his mind. Howard had said he was coming and he believed him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard laid him in the bed. His quilt was still out on the couch and so Howard picked up a throw blanket off the floor and carefully tucked it around Vince. Then he stood as if he intended to go back to the couch and sleep there.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stay with me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if Howard could refuse a request like that. “Very well. Budge over.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince scooted over and Howard climbed into the bed with him. Vince instantly curled into his side. Wrapping his arms around Howard like a koala. Then he started kissing up Howard’s neck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re sleeping Vince.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Course we are,” Vince murmured into Howard’s neck as he continued to press kisses along Howard’s jaw.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince flopped onto his back and they both stared up at the ceiling. Howard tried not to notice the hurt look on his face. It was not a successful effort. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard reached over and took Vince’s hand. Vince’s fingers curled around his own.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They fell asleep like that. Hand in hand.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pulled down his eyelid, applying his eyeliner on the waterline, then swooping it over his upper eyelid. Then he tried to do the same with the other eye but his hand shook and the line was all wrong. He chucked the eyeliner into the sink and viciously swiped at his eye with a makeup remover pad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a deep breath then picked up the kohl pencil and tried again. Wobbly again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nearly screamed with frustration. He couldn’t keep Howard waiting. He’d told Howard he just needed a moment. To pull himself together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a gentle knock at the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a minute,” he said, hating how small and weak his voice sounded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried the eyeliner one more time and was able to get it at least somewhat even. He felt a bit sturdier. He swiped on some lip tint then did his mascara. He could do this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d told Vince he would wait, well if Vince had waited for an answer he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>have told Vince he’d wait, and so wait he would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he knew what he needed to do. Come good or ill he needed to tell Vince the truth. Tell him everything that had happened. Vince had spent twenty years wondering. He deserved answers. Then Howard would do whatever Vince asked him to. Help protect him from Bainbridge. Leave and never return. Whatever Vince wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince opened the door and came out. His makeup looked flawless and he seemed steadier.  He sat down on the couch and stared at Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Howard dodged his gaze. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up, trying to find the right point at which to start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The morning we tried to leave...Bainbridge went to see my father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John Moon liked Dixon Bainbridge. He was born to a rich family, but he hadn’t allowed it to make him soft. They’d shared more than a few drinks together at the Wayward Vicar over the last year or so. Bainbridge was a proper man, much more of a man than John’s own sniveling sot of a son would ever be. So when Bainbridge had arrived at his door just as he was about to leave for work and asked to come in, John had of course agreed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge sank into an armchair in the living room with a wince. John pretended not to notice as he grabbed at the crotch of his trousers several times. The man was clearly in pain. He also had claw marks running across his face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“John. I respect you a great deal. In fact I’d wager most of the people in this town respect you a great deal. And that’s why I’m coming to talk with you man to man.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quite the opener, aye Bainbridge? Wha’s this all about?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s about your boy, John.  He’s been spending a lot of time with the witch child. Vince Noir.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John clenched his hands into fists. “That little shit. I told ‘im-I fuckin’ told him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now hold on there. Hold on just a moment John. It’s not Howard’s fault. I’ve heard from a reliable source that Noir dosed him with a love potion. That they met and the witch child took a shine to him and when your boy wasn’t interested he slipped him a love potion. He’s been under the spell ever since.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge had to fight down a smile. It was all too perfect. Hadn’t he heard his sister complain about little Noir slipping her idiot boyfriend a love potion for years? Bainbridge of course knew it was utter bullshit, but it did make for a nice narrative. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John nearly bit through his own lip. “I’m going to kill him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“First we need to grab him,” Bainbridge said. “And it might not hurt to have a bit of backup. He may look like a poof but he packs quite a wallop.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>John snorted, “bout the exact opposite a’ my boy then.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell you what,” Bainbridge said. “I’ll round up a few of my associates and you round up a few of yours. Then we can find him.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tha’s easy enough idn’t it? ‘E lives in that devil ‘ouse out in the woods don’ ‘e?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very true. But getting him out is easier said than done. A couple years ago they added quite a lot of protection. Entering the cottage is...challenging.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then what do we do?” John asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The world would never know what Bainbridge would have said because the world delivered a gift right into their laps. Howard walked in the front door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had thought he was being smart. Waiting until his dad left for work before entering the house. His work was close enough that most days he walked, so Howard had thought nothing of the car still being in the driveway. All he knew was that his father was never ever ever late for work. It didn’t matter if he was deathly sick, grievously injured, or horrifically hung over. He was always bang on the spot when the work day started. Punctuality was one of the very few qualities they shared.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So it was with a fair amount of confidence that Howard entered his father’s house with the intent to pick up his things and then meet Vince by the lake before they went to the bus station. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before he’d left, Vince had asked him one last time if he was sure he didn’t want Vince’s help picking up his things. Howard had told him no, just to wait for him down by the lake, that it was something he needed to do by himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When they’d woken up he’d felt largely at peace with the decision. He was sure it was all going to go horribly wrong at some point and he had resigned himself to it. He would enjoy being with Vince as long as he could and when it all fell apart he would look at the time as the gift it was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This was as close as Howard Moon got to optimism. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a very good reason that this was as close as Howard Moon got to optimism. The reason reared its ugly head when Howard entered the house to find his father and Dixon Bloody Bainbridge sitting in the living room. Apparently waiting for him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The instant Howard saw the two of them his brain screamed at him louder than it had ever screamed before to run. Run! RUN!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he turned on his heel and lunged for the door. But his father was already up and across the room. Viper quick. His hand closed around the back of Howard’s neck and Howard screamed. Not on purpose. It just came out. High and panicky like a caught rabbit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quit yer mewlin’ boy,” his father snarled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He spun Howard around and grabbed him by the lapels and backed him into the kitchen before slinging him into a kitchen chair. Howard almost tipped over backwards but flailed to stay upright.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father grabbed his face, his rough calloused hands squeezing Howard’s cheeks painfully.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You listen to me,” his father’s voice was deadly quiet, “you’re going to tell us how to get at the witch child. If you cooperate, you’ll go back to your mother’s. And if you don’t...well I think you know what happens if you don’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” Howard said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that his father slapped him. But it was still a shock every time. It always left him breathless. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. His father had never hit him in front of anyone else before. Not even his mother. This scared him even further, that his father didn’t care about the line he was crossing. Maybe he didn’t have a line anymore.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s vision darkened at the edges. No. No. No. This was the worst possible time for a panic attack. Everything was narrowing down to a pinhole. His dad was talking to him, but all he could hear was a ringing in his ears and his own labored breathing as his throat closed up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father slapped him again and everything shifted into hyperfocus. He could hear the sink dripping. He could see the tiniest patch of hair on his father’s neck that he had missed while shaving. He was distinctly aware of the grain of the wood of his chair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge stepped up beside Howard’s father. “Perhaps I could speak with him a moment?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go on then.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge leaned forward to get on Howard’s level. Managing to be both condescending and menacing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t need to cover for him Howard. We know what he did.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We know he dosed you with a love potion.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not your fault Howard. If you tell us how to get to him then we’ll have him sort you out.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He didn’t-” Howard began but was abruptly cut off by another slap from his father. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His nose started bleeding again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t lie for him boy. Only way any son a mine is a poof is if he’s been bewitched.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dad...Dad please.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge was standing behind John, so only Howard saw the smile on his face. “My my. It’s worse than I thought.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was having a very hard time focusing. He knew he had to do something. Had to get out of here. But he honestly had no idea where to start and every time he tried to think his brain just huddled in the corner whimpering. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve heard sometimes that getting someone under a love spell to admit it can make the hold of the spell less strong,” Bainbridge said. Then he placed a hand on Howard’s shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard shuddered away, he couldn’t help it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s alright Howard. Just admit it. Help us find Vince. And this can all be over.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He didn’t do anything!” Howard said, his voice getting higher with each syllable.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quit lyin’!” His father bellowed and he slapped him again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard tried to curl in on himself but his father roughly grabbed his face and jerked it up, forcing eye contact.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard eyes darted away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Look at me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard couldn’t. It was too much. Howard’s father tightened his grip on Howard’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You look at me boy.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard’s skin burned where his father touched him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He felt his eyes jittering in his head as he tried to look at his father but found he couldn’t hold the gaze for more than a moment. He was trying. He was trying. He was trying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he burst into tears. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father snorted in disgust and released his face, shoving it away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>While Howard was gone, Vince spent about an hour or so trying to fit all of his clothes into his old trusty backpacks. But it was physically impossible. Then he remembered a pocket dimension spell that Bryan had used to expand his pack when he went to the jungles of India to source ingredients. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had begged Bryan to show him how to do it so he could expand his closet but Bryan had told him he’d need to wait until he was older. It was too complex.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well. No time like the present. Vince dug out Bryan’s spell book and did the requisite chant and hand gestures and the pocket dimension opened up inside his bag. He didn’t even need two backpacks! But they’d been with him through a lot so he carefully rolled up the one without the pocket dimension and placed it inside his other bag with the rest of his clothes. It was all going down nice and easy. And there was only a 30% chance that the backpack would explode. He liked those odds. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His packing finally completed, he had laboriously written a note to Bryan, then he’d made his way down to the lake where he and Howard would meet. He could hardly wait. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the course of Howard’s story Vince had collapsed in on himself more and more until he was just a tiny ball sitting on the couch. His arms wrapped around his legs. His chin resting on his knees. He wasn’t crying. Honestly he looked too shell shocked to cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was able to tell the story largely without emotion. He’d sat with these events for twenty years. The man who had done these things to him, who had turned him into the twitchy nervy bundle of neuroses, was dead. Dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he was fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father was dead. And he was fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard turned the thought over in his mind like it was a Rubik's cube. Examining it from all angles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father was dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gone through the motions. He’d gone to see the solicitor. He’d called and told his mother.  He’d come all this way to see to his father’s affairs.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this was truly the first time he’d thought about what it meant. His father was dead. The man who had backhanded him for dropping a plate. Shown him how to ride a bike. Twisted his wrist so hard he couldn’t properly make a fist for a week. Took him to a football match and bought him chips and ice cream. Made his skin burn with his touch.  Was dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezed his eyes shut. Tilting his head to the side. He swallowed a few times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. I’m uh, sorry little m-uh-Vince. I just. Um. Need a moment.” His voice sounded bizarrely robotic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Vince asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded. His head bobbed up and down too many times. “Fine. Yes. I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard covered his eyes with his hand. His shoulders hitched as a painful sob ripped from deep in his chest. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m actin’ this way. I’m fine. He was an old bastard. He’s dead now. And I’m-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brought his other hand up to his face. And he was crying. And found he couldn’t stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had never realized what Howard’s father was capable of. Howard had never elaborated beyond the fact that they didn’t get along. Didn’t have much in common. He was a bit mean. A bit scary. Never anything like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart ached for Howard. For someone like that to be your parent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d had Bryan. And even though his own father didn’t love him, he’d never laid a finger on him for the five years he’d lived with him. Neither of his parents had touched him, for good or ill. He remembered falling asleep in the arms of a stern but warm woman whose name he didn’t know, as he’d never called her anything but nanny. There hadn’t been a lot of warmth in his first home, but he’d never had to deal with anything like the abuse Howard was describing. At least not from his family. Bryan had always protected him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt a surge of gratefulness for Bryan. Who hadn’t been perfect but had done his very best all the same. He really missed him sometimes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Howard had first started crying his natural instinct had been to go over and wrap him in the biggest hug of his life. But he remembered that under times of distress like this Howard didn’t like to be touched. He’d always felt like such a failure. Howard had always made him feel better and he’d always failed at every turn. And he’d hated it. So over the years he’d looked up a few things about anxiety and panic attacks. Not really knowing why, since Howard was gone, but wanting to know nonetheless. A lot of the stuff he’d read had been over his head. Oftentimes when he was trying to read up on it he would feel so thick he’d want to chuck his ancient laptop across the room. But he’d picked up some things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hopefully he’d picked up enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t think Howard was having a panic  attack per se, but he wasn’t hunky dory either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood up and walked over to Howard. He didn’t touch him. He just gently asked “what do you need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you just sit beside me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. ‘Course I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat down on the arm of Howard’s armchair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence for a bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was silly. He’d hated his father. There was no reason for all...this. He should just pull it together. What must Vince think of him. Crying like this for the man who had ruined both their lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would stop crying...now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice small and wobbly. “I shouldn’t-I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t just sit there and let the man he lov-cared about-no-</span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>sit there crying unhugged and uncomforted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Howard. And to his surprise Howard hugged him back. Knotting his fists into the fabric at the back of Vince’s shirt. His face pressed into Vince’s chest. Sobbing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Howard. It’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s where he was wrong. It wasn’t okay. Howard still had more story to tell. And he didn’t see how Vince could ever forgive him. He’d give anything for it to be so. But he didn’t see how it was possible. So yes, he cried for the loss of his father. But he cried for the loss of Vince as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was finally going to extinguish that last little glimmer of hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>5.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was a mess. One of his eyes had swollen shut and his shirt, Bryan’s shirt, was a mess of blood. His father kept demanding that he admit Vince had given him a love potion and tell him how they could get to him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been hours. Vince was probably waiting by the lake. Wondering where he was.  He had to protect him. Had to.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he could feel his resolve wavering. And it filled him with terror. He’d never kidded himself he was strong. But he thought he’d be stronger than this. When it wasn’t his own skin he was protecting but Vince’s. The person he loved most in this world. But he wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had asked him “Can I trust you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And the answer was no. No you can’t.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes,” he heard himself saying. Numb. He could hear the way his voice sounded to others. Rather than how it sounded in his head. “It was a love potion. He gave me a love potion.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was too shell shocked to feel his father’s fingers brushing through his curls in a comforting gesture. Or see a slow smile curl across Bainbridge’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where can we find him. When will he leave the cottage?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stared down at his palms. They were good as new, even though it should have taken weeks for them to properly heal. Silent tears drifted down his cheeks. He shook his head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father drew back his hand, to hit him again. Howard cringed away with a whimper he hated.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where will he be?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>6.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wrapped up his story. He couldn’t look at Vince. Didn’t dare. Then he asked the question he’d spent the last twenty years wondering about and absolutely dreading the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never knew what happened after that.” His voice was soft. Sad, yes. But mostly soft. “Will you tell me what happened next?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince nodded. He trailed his fingers up and down Howard’s back as he spoke, still sitting on the arm of the chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>7.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At first Vince was relieved when he’d beaten Howard to the lake. He was a bit late and he’d had an apology on the tip of his tongue when he came out of the trees. But Howard was nowhere to be seen. Vince figured he was probably agonizing over a pair of aggressive muffin  corduroys and an inquisitive muffin pair of corduroys, deciding which to pack. In his own way Howard really had a finely attuned sense of color. Vince couldn’t tell any of Howard’s favorite colors apart but apparently Howard saw a beige rainbow. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So Vince climbed up on the log, leaving his backpack on the shore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> He felt bad he couldn’t say goodbye to the birds. He’d been able to say goodbye to the rodents and reptiles and bugs because Bryan didn’t speak rodent or reptile or bug. He’d even been able to leave Jeremy with a “See you in hell.” But he couldn’t say goodbye to the birds. They could give him away and Bryan could portal straight to him and drag him back before he got out of town. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Saying goodbye to the birds had been his mistake the last time he tried to run away. When he was 13. He’d packed his things, bound and determined that he was going to find his mum and dad, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. But then he’d found out how trapped he really was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All Vince’s life he’d begged Bryan to move them somewhere else. Or for Bryan to take Vince with him when he went on a dozen exotic trips to a dozen exotic locales. But Bryan always refused. Insisting that the village was the only place he would be safe. The only place that his grandparents would never find him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As a child Vince had never questioned it, but as he got a bit older he thought it ridiculous. If his grandparents were looking for him, it was hardly a stretch to find him in the little village, even if they had changed his last name. So he decided he was going to leave. He said goodbye  to all of the animals and started walking to the bus station. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d been on the bus. It was pulling out of the station when Bryan portaled into the bus station, used a spell to pop all four tires on the bus, then climbed on and pulled him off. Then patched all the tires with a careless wave over his shoulder.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d taken Vince home and after enduring Vince screaming at him for twenty minutes straight he told Vince the end of the story. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The night Vince’s parents left him on Bryan’s doorstep, Bryan cast a spell. It was all he could think of. People with Vince’s family’s resources would move quickly and decisively. And then Vince would be in the care of those that would willingly prostitute their own children for money and power. They would want their only heir. The one they had disobeyed the rules of the spell in order to procure. So he’d cast a spell. As wide as he could. As long as Vince stayed within the boundaries of the spell, his family would never find him. Vince’s family was rich, they could afford to hire not only private investigators but magic private investigators as well. They would be able to punch through a more mobile hiding spell because they were harder to maintain. As long as Vince stayed in the same place he would be safe. And he’d been less than a mile from crossing the border of the spell when Bryan got to him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince had been crushed. He was never getting out. He was never leaving. He’d be trapped for the rest of his life in a town of people who hated him. He met Bainbridge a few months later. When he was at his most lonely. His most low.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well. Vince was older now. He knew a few things. Just let his family try and come for him. He had Howard. They’d keep each other safe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once Howard got there. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Half an hour later Vince was worried. For Howard punctuality was next to Godliness. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to walk to Howard’s father’s house, which he had never been to but had walked past a few times trying to be nonchalant. But he knew that if Howard had been caught, his showing up was only going to make things worse. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he didn’t want to miss Howard by accident if he’d only been held up, but was still coming. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sat on the log fidgeting. Then he stood up and walked along it, arms stuck out like a tightrope walker, then back down to pick at the bark, then shifting so he was straddling the log, then turning around so he’s facing the shore instead of the lake, then back to facing the lake, and on and on and on.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hours later, Howard had still not shown up. And Bryan was going to be getting home soon. And their head start would be shot. He was going to have to try and find Howard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He stood up on the log, getting ready to climb off it onto shore when he heard footsteps coming up the path.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard!” He called, relieved. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s wide grin dropped off his face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge, Jean Claude, Joey Moose, Corky, and Fossil emerged from the trees. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello beautiful,” Bainbridge called.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>8.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to take Vince’s hand. Hold it close. Press his dears fingertips to his lips. But he feared rebuke. That the touch might not be welcome. This fear. It locked him up. It kept him from so many good things. He needed to stop letting it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed Vince’s hand. Vince squeezed it gratefully and kept talking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>9.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince launched himself off the log not quite making it to shore, his legs sank in 18 inches of lake muck, but he managed to get his feet free. Losing one of his sparkly golden boots in the process. He got onto solid ground and made a break for the trees. Forced to run lopsided because of the heel on his still booted foot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge tutted and the younger boys raced after him and quickly had him surrounded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge easily strolled into the middle of the circle with Vince. “It was so idiotic of you to meet here. Honestly I could have figured it out myself instead of Moon telling me exactly where to find you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howard would never do that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mm. He would and he did.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a liar.” Vince lunged for Bainbridge but Joey and Jean Claude grabbed him. Holding him back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince struggled to free his arms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He told us everything. It’s so adorable the way you two kissed on your first date. We kissed on our first date as well. Remember?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s hands dropped to his sides. There was. There was no way. Howard would never tell them-he’d never-he’d never ever ever-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But Bainbridge knew. He knew things he couldn’t know. Shouldn’t know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He also told us about the love potion you gave him.” Bainbridge wagged his finger at Vince. “Naughty boy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What? I-I didn’t-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve caused me quite a bit of bother the last few days darling. That bloody hawk could have had my eye.” Bainbridge pressed delicately at the bandages on his face. “And of course there is the matter of the stunt you pulled last night. So, I think I know exactly what to do. What will remind you of your place. And it’s been so long, hasn’t it friends, such a long time since we played Dunk the Witch.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vince tells Howard what happened next.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Vince was at his worst. His most petty. His most cruel. His most vindictive and sad and lonely and angry and all the other negative emotions that he didn’t know the names of because he wasn’t good with words. He would sometimes fantasize about Howard’s reaction if he ever got the chance to tell Howard what happened after Howard had given him up. He’d imagined the guilt on Howard’s face. He’d imagined Howard falling to his knees and begging for his forgiveness. They hadn’t been nice thoughts. But the things that had happened to him hadn’t been nice either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he saw now Howard was already riddled with guilt. And none of it was Howard’s fault. No more than it was his own. Howard didn’t deserve any more pain. He’d forgiven Howard and then rescinded that forgiveness in his heart so many times. But now he finally had the true answer. And of course he forgave Howard. For good this time. Of course it wasn’t his fault and it hadn’t happened how Bainbridge had said it had. Howard had never betrayed him. He’d just been given an impossible choice and chosen to survive. It was incredible how good it felt just to know what had happened. He felt lighter than he had in twenty years. Like the spark and fire that had been missing had come back and was turning into a mighty blaze. For the first time in so very very long, things had the possibility of being sparkly pink and genius again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So of course when it came down to it he didn’t go through with it. At least not in the way he’d thought he would in those dark moments. In excruciating detail. Making Howard feel the weight of what had happened. Every scream. Every cry. How they’d ripped a chunk out of his hair. How he’d coughed up water for days. And had nightmares for years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he described it in as cold and clinical terms as he was able. Trying his best not to sensationalize. Trying not to let the fear that had gripped him seep into his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he loved Howard. And didn’t want to hurt him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He hoped that maybe knowing would set Howard free as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They grabbed me and dragged me over to the water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince couldn’tbreathcouldn’tbreathecouldn’tbreathe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then the hand on the back of his head lifted and he thrashed out of the water. Making the split decision to draw in a breath and scream it out rather than hold it in. And it was the wrong decision because they pushed him back under. Big strong hands. Holding him down. And his mouth was open and cold lakewater rushed in and he splashed and screamed but it did no good. They negated each other and they let him up again and he knew this time this time this time he should hold his breath don’t scream just take in air but he did scream, he was too scared not to and he needshelpneedshelpneedshelp. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And the fingers were tangled in his hair and it hurt. And his lungs burned and his voicebox shrieked to stop stop stop and he didn’t know if it was him screaming or his voice begging him to stop before it was gone completely but he needed help and-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howaaaaaard!” He screamed before they shoved him back under. But Howard was gone. He wasn’t there he couldn't help. Couldn’t help. He was gone and he couldn't help. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thinking straight he wasn’t thinking straight. Vision blackening at the edges. He had to think. Think. THINK!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They let him up again he screamed and he screamed and he screamed for “Elishaaaaaaaaaa!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And he was getting tired. He was so tired. And he was upside down. Breathing underwater and drowning in the sunshine. Screaming for help to the fish and thrashing for air on the surface. And everything was black. And everything was too bright and he-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I passed out. They got scared and dumped me on the shore and ran away,” Vince said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sort of remembered awakening to Bryan roughly shaking him. It had hurt. Felt like someone was clawing at his back in a dream. Then he’d taken a breath. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing. Then he took another. Then the world was a riot of color and sound and sensation. And Bryan was holding him and stroking his hair out of his face and he returned the hug not quite sure what it was for and then he remembered and his world crumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was deathly pale. His hands were shaking. Vince was feeling a bit unsteady himself. At a few different points during the story he’d wanted to stop. Spare Howard and maybe spare himself as well. But holding back, not telling each other everything, that was how they’d reached the sorry state of affairs they found himself in. And he wanted to move forward. Maybe there was hope. Maybe they could be happy. If they let it all out. If they told the whole truth. So he’d kept going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The worst was over. Vince plastered on a grin, trying to work himself and Howard by extension into a good humor. “Jeremy was the one who found me, if you can believe that. ‘E’d been comin’ down to the lake, on some sort of toad business. ‘N he saw me and he managed to get Bryan’s attention.”  The smile was well on its way to becoming real. “Bryan was back but he’d been trying to find me outside of town. He’d never imagined I was still here. So Jeremy led him right to me.” Jeremy was never all that bad. He just had a fucked up sense of humor. But when the chips were down he’d probably saved Vince’s life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan carried Vince back to the cottage. Vince was shivering uncontrollably. His lips were blue. Purple bruises were already staining the pale skin at the back of his neck. Bryan laid him on the couch and rushed to the potion cabinet. He grabbed several lovely jewel-toned bottles and hustled back over to Vince. He sat them down on the coffee table near the couch, a couple tipped over in his haste, but they all stayed sealed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince blinked sluggishly and then his eyes drifted closed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan patted Vince’s face. But he didn’t respond.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had long prided himself on his ability to keep calm in a crisis. But seeing his boy this way... His hands were shaking as he tried to pour the first potion into Vince’s mouth. He ended up spilling most of it down the side of Vince’s face. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He needed the full dose. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan threw the empty bottle at the wall and it shattered into glittering pieces. He ran back over to the cabinet and grabbed another one of the bottles. This time propping Vince’s lolling head up and making sure his hands were steady before he poured the potion down Vince’s throat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Color flushed into Vince’s cheeks and he stopped shaking, but he didn’t seem any more responsive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan opened the next bottle. This one was topical. He splashed the potion onto his own hands then rubbed the solution onto Vince’s face and hands. After the potion sank in for a few seconds Vince shot straight up. His eyes darting wildly. Breathing heavily. Screaming. Trying to thrash away from unseen assailants.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Bryan saw those big blue eyes open and alert he gathered Vince up in his arms. Hugging him fiercely. “It’s okay monkey. You’re okay.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince resisted him at first. Still disorientated. Still not sure what was going on. But Bryan kept holding him. And whispering that everything was okay, it was fine, he was okay, he was safe, it was all okay monkey, you’re safe, it’s safe, and eventually he realized it was true. They were gone and-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince knotted his fists into Bryan’s shirt. Sobbing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Howaaaaaard,” he howled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, sweetheart, he’s not here.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince wanted to scream. No. No. No. Howard told them. Told them where to find him. Told lies about him. But he couldn’t. Every time he opened his mouth it was all stutters and fragments. He felt like one of those dolls where you press the button on the base and they fall apart and then get reeled back together with string. But no one was reeling him back together. So he was stuck. Limp and scattered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan unwrapped one of his arms from Vince so that he could grab another potion bottle from the coffee table. He didn’t know exactly what had happened. But Vince was in no state to tell him. He needed rest. He needed time to heal. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Without letting go of Vince with his other arm, Bryan used his teeth to pull the cork on a calming pink potion that was ostensibly for sweet dreams but was also a rather strong sedative.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. I need you to drink this for me.” Bryan tipped the bottle toward Vince’s mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head and pushed it away. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Monkey. It’ll make you feel better.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head. He let go of Bryan and covered his eyes with his hands, trying to hide his tears. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please. For me. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan would try reason, but he knew if Vince continued to refuse then he would have to resort to more powerful magic. Whether Vince understood or not he needed to rest. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince’s crying slowed. He focused on his breathing. And soon enough he was breathing steadily and only letting out a quick sob whenever his mind returned to the events of the morning. About every ten seconds or so. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He held out his hand to take the bottle of Eurythmic from Bryan. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the bottle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan reached to take the bottle. “Maybe I should-” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince shook his head, he brought the bottle up to his mouth, accidentally clipping the mouth of the bottle on one of his teeth, hard enough for Bryan to wince, but he drank the potion down. And within seconds he was asleep. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan smoothed away the wet strands of hair plastered to Vince’s face. Combing it back away from his cheeks and brow. He conjured up a magic wind to rapidly dry off Vince’s clothes, so he was no longer soaking wet and could sleep dry and warm.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had not been prepared for parenthood when Vince’s parents left him on his doorstep. In fact he’d been about as far from prepared for parenthood as was possible. The time during which he’d sold Vince’s grandparents the love potion represented a real low point in his life. Drinking. Drugs. Dark magic. Anything for a thrill. So when someone who “worked for the family” approached him about a love potion, he had given it to them with barely a second thought. He’d explained the rules of course. But he hadn’t exactly stuck around to make sure they were followed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A few years later he got sober. Turned his life around. Bought a cottage in a small village. Determined to live the quiet life. Then he’d found out about the child. And he’d gone to the family. He wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to accomplish. The damage was already done. But he’d felt he needed to do something. They’d barely listened and then had him thrown out when he grew agitated. He’d felt guilty but also assumed that that was the end of it. Until a few months later he’d woken to find a little boy with the biggest bluest eyes he’d ever seen crying on his doorstep. When Bryan asked the little boy who he was, he said “Vince Violette.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The first few weeks Vince lived with him had been difficult. Vince had no idea what was going on and Bryan had no way to explain magical fallout to a five year old. Vince had been both terrified of him and incredibly clingy. He wouldn’t talk to Bryan (the last peace and quiet Bryan ever knew) but he also started crying whenever Bryan left his line of vision. Even if it was only for a moment. After a few weeks Vince started to accept the situation. Kids were resilient and Vince more than most.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan scooped Vince into his arms and was overcome with the strongest sense of deja vu. Bryan had smiled indulgently the first time Vince had pretended to be asleep so Bryan would carry him from the couch to his bedroom. After the hundredth his back began to scream. But still Vince would pretend to fall asleep places so Bryan would have to carry him around. Bryan finally drew the line when Vince was 9. Telling he was far too heavy. And most children stopped this sort of nonsense when they were much younger. Enough was enough. Go to bed. On your own power.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Had there really been a time when he thought Vince was too heavy? He seemed so light now, so small. He should have just let him keep pretending. He was a sweet boy. He could be an absolute brat. But he was also a sweet boy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With Vince safe and sleeping Bryan had a few things he needed to do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>5.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sniffled, periodically swiping at the tears dropping down onto his cheeks as he listened to Vince’s story. Everything Vince had been through. It was all his fault. If he’d been stronger. If he’d told Vince the truth. If he’d stood up to his father. If if if. The ifs had kept them apart for two decades. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry Vince,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince reached up and wiped away his tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It isn’t,” Howard said fiercely. “I should have done something. I should have fought. I should have-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were a kid,” Vince said quietly. “You were just a kid. Same as me. He was your dad. He was supposed to take care a’ ya. Keep ya safe. He shouldn’t a’ done that to you. It weren’t right. You was just a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded but Vince could tell he didn’t believe him. Because Vince himself had worn that same doubtful look on his face when he’d been told that the abuse he’d received wasn’t his fault. He’d been so convinced for so long that he’d brought all his misery on himself. With the way he dressed and the way he moved. He didn’t say no strongly enough. And then he didn’t say it at all even though he wanted to. He’d been sure it was his fault and even Bryan and Howard both telling him it wasn’t was not enough to make him believe it. It was something he’d needed to realize for himself. It felt strange, but he’d had to forgive himself for being a child. Sometimes even still he would get so angry with himself for being weak. For being naive. For not protecting himself more. He had to live with the scars from his childhood and he had to periodically remind himself that he wasn’t the one who put them there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard would have to do the same. And Vince would be there to help him along. And remind him when he couldn’t remember himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t your fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>6.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard stared out the window as his father drove him back to Leeds. He could hear his father talking but even if he tried to concentrate he couldn’t make any of the individual words coalesce into sentences. His nose was so swollen he had to breathe through his mouth. There was a bag of ice melting on the seat. His dad had told him to hold it to his eye. But he kept forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. So he just pressed his forehead to the glass.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was still wearing Bryan’s shirt. It was ruined now. He was only capable of these surface level thoughts. If his mind got too close to thinking about _________ or _____________ or__________ then he was certain he would lose his mind. He’d turn into a gibbering fool. He’d be lost forever if he thought too hard about what he’d done.  How he’d ____________ ________. Too painful to name. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t blink once the entire drive to Leeds. He didn’t react when they pulled up in front of his building where he lived in a flat with his mum. Finally his father came around and opened his car door. He climbed out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Then mindlessly followed his father inside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His mother was home, no supply teacher jobs that day. She hugged him and brushed his curls out of his eyes and asked what happened to his sweet face. He simply blinked at her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then she whirled on his father. Screaming at him and he screamed right back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In the middle of their argument Howard walked into his room and closed the door. He didn’t come out when he heard his father leave. He didn’t come out when it was time to eat. He barely left his room for the last few weeks of summer break. Only coming out when it was absolutely necessary. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vera Moon certainly understood. Howard needed time. He’d been through something horrific though she still wasn’t entirely sure what it was because Howard wouldn’t tell her and she certainly couldn’t count on her bastard of an ex-husband to give her a straight answer when he’d clearly been the cause. But the thing that really filled her with fear,  more than the bruises on his face or his refusal to get out of bed, was the lack of music bleeding through the walls. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Since Howard had been little more than a baby he’d loved music. He listened to it while he made breakfast, he listened to it while he brushed his teeth, he listened to it when he did his homework and read his book and chatted with her when she got home from a long day at work. She often had to sleep with a pillow over her ears to dampen the sounds of Coltrane playing at two in the morning. But since he’d been back she hadn’t heard a single note. And it filled her with terror. That her Howard had been irreparably broken in some way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least John was out of their lives forever. She’d told him that he would never see Howard again. And if he tried to take her to court again she would go to the police. And show them what he’d done to Howard. She’d taken pictures. It had given her a chill when she asked Howard to sit up so she could take the pictures of his swollen face and he did it without seeming to actually be awake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As the summer drew to a close she was able to draw him out. Little by little. She asked him to help her with dinner. Then she asked him to sit with her and watch one of the Danish avant garde films they were both fond of. Then. One night. She asked him what happened.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And it all came out. He told her everything. Dixon Bainbridge. His father. The witch in the woods. And of course, Vince Noir. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her heart ached that she’d never gotten the chance to meet him. The one other person who understood how special Howard was. Didn’t make him feel like a freak or an outsider. Made him feel wanted and important and loved. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And she hated her ex-husband for taking all of that away from Howard. All because he couldn’t accept what Howard was. Who Howard was. Because he didn’t fit into John’s picture of what a man should be.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He got better. He was talking and coming out of his room again. But there was still no music. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Until one day, after he’d been back almost a full month she heard the strains of </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s Always You </span>
  <em>
    <span>drifting from his room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>7.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pressed his lips to Howard’s shoulder. He still sat on the arm of the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He murmured with his mouth pressed to the soft fabric of Howard’s shirt, “I don’t want to be sad anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard let out a choked laugh. “Neither do I, little man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that Vince gently pressed his palm to Howard’s face, turning it toward his own. Then he kissed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d meant it to be simple and sweet. Just a promise of more to come. But once his lips connected with Howard’s, twenty years of longing and pain and love and want spilled out and he found himself grabbing Howard’s face. Kissing him harder. Wanting him closerclosercloser.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard froze for a moment his eyes wide. Then he let out a breath he’d been holding for twenty years and sank into the kiss, allowing his eyes to drift closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince climbed into Howard’s lap and Howard’s hands traveled up and down his thighs. And he moaned into Howard’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard loved the thick musculature of Vince’s legs. He felt so strong and alive and </span>
  <em>
    <span>present </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his lap</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No longer the thin little waif from their teenage years. There was a thin blue shadow of stubble on Vince’s cheeks that he never would have been able to grow when he was younger. It rasped over Howard’s skin and he’d never known it could be like this. That it could be so good like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been scared that their chemistry might have faded. Evaporated like liquid in a poorly sealed jar left to sit on a shelf for 20 years. But it was still there. If anything it was better. They were hungry for each other. Two magnets held just far enough apart for so long finally able to snap back together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fit together perfectly. Vince’s smaller frame wrapping around Howard’s larger one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard ran his fingers through Vince’s hair. And when he drew them back to Vince’s face to draw him deeper and deeper into a kiss he could smell Vince’s mint and lavender shampoo on his own hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, timid but wanting. Vince attempted to take off his shirt without disengaging from Howard, then when he saw that wasn’t going to work he sat up and tried to take it off sexily, but he ended up getting his head and arms stuck in his shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quit laughin’ ya berk! Help me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was in no rush to get the shirt off. Instead he trailed his tongue down Vince’s chest. Robbed of his sight, the sensation of Howard’s tongue on his sensitive skin left Vince gasping. He wanted nothing more than to get Howard’s togs off and return the favor. But his arms were trapped. So all he could do was try to stay still and feel the material of his t-shirt tickle his lips as it puffed in and out with each breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard dragged his fingers up and down Vince’s bare back and it cast goosebumps over his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince jumped in surprise as Howard kissed him through the t-shirt material covering his face. The sensation of Howard’s tongue pressing into his mouth through the soft cloth was unlike Vince had ever experienced before. Sexy, but frustratingly distant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince whimpered. He wanted more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard thought he could have stared at the wet spot on the shirt where his and Vince’s mouths had come together forever. It was completely chaste yet somehow utterly obscene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard settled his hands on Vince’s hips, rubbing his thumbs over the dark hair trailing down into Vince’s trousers. Vince shuddered and shivered into his touch. And the most beautiful pink blush bloomed across his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s voice was husky and low and aching with want as he said “Come on Howard. Get me outta here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking one for the team, Howard obliged. Pulling the shirt up over Vince’s arms and head. Letting it drop to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he hooked his arms under Vince’s legs and stood up. Vince gasped as he was suddenly lifted into the air but then wrapped his legs around Howard’s waist as Howard carried him toward the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was one very important question he needed to ask before they could proceed. It was important in every sexual encounter, or so Howard had read, despite not having many (or any) sexual encounters, but it was especially important for someone with Vince’s history. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked up from where he had been kissing Howard’s neck. His mouth was wet and pink and quite distracting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this alright? Do you want to do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment Vince looked confused and Howard was terrified once again that he had misread this entire situation though he wasn’t quite sure how that was possible in this scenario. Then the confusion cleared and a beautiful smile bloomed across Vince’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. No one’s ever really-never bothered to-” Vince bit his lip, his cheeks went pink and he smiled up at Howard bashfully. “Yes Howard. I want this. I’ve wanted it so long.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard grinned and dropped Vince onto the bed. Vince looked up at him and the look in his eye just promised he was going to say something cheeky but then Howard began unbuttoning his shirt and the cheeky look dissolved into hunger. His pupils grew larger, making his eyes dark and dangerous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard got all of the front buttons undone, but in his haste he’d missed the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves. He thrashed for a bit before the buttons finally cried no more and released. He threw the shirt onto the floor and gave Vince a lupine smile of triumph.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then twenty years of sexual tension boiled over, and you can certainly put together the rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Afterwards they laid sprawled on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you Howard,” Vince said. And the words were so easy with his head buzzing and his muscles trembling. He could have said them twenty years ago. He could have said them yesterday. But he couldn’t regret that this was the first time saying them. Not when it was all so perfect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard laid down next to him. Gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Vince’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too little man,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most beautiful smile Howard had ever seen in his life bloomed on Vince’s face as he struggled to keep his eyes open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if Howard could ever deny him anything. Howard kissed Vince. Vince kissed him back lazily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think it’s time for a sleepy,” Vince said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly I think you sleep more than anyone I’ve ever met,” Howard said. “Walked to the store? Time for a nap. Made some tea. Better have a bit of a rest. Fed the birds. Need a little sleepy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think the rather athletic sex we just had qualifies me to take a nap,” Vince said, he was teasing, but there was no heat behind it, he was too relaxed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Rip Van Winkle, before you drift off to the land of nod, we should probably get cleaned up.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t move,” Vince whined. “My legs are jelly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well we’re not going to sleep like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Carry me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not carrying you. I already carried you once and my back is screaming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew he was going to give in, but the back and forth was just too much fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stuck out his lower lip into a pout. “Please Howard? I’m so tired. See?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted his arm then let it drop back down to his side, limp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what am I meant to do once we’re in the bathroom? Prop you up in the shower?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Noo,” Vince sneered playfully. “I got a bathtub. A nice big one. Please Howard. Please please please.” He whined like a puppy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end the prospect of climbing into a bathtub with Vince was too tantalizing a proposition for him to keep up the pretense of resistance. He stood up and scooped Vince into his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince slung his arms around Howards neck and nestled his head into Howard’s chest. Howard carried him to the bathroom then set him down to turn on the taps of the gigantic clawfoot tub. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck his hand under the running water, determined that the temperature was just right and took the plug off it’s resting place on the ledge and stuck it in the drain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pointed to a shelf filled with bottles and tubs. “Grab that purple bottle. The squeezy one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re closer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t lift my arms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your arm is up right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince instantly dropped his arm back down to his side and gave Howard a abashed but still cheeky smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head and chuckling with fake indignation Howard walked over to the shelf, really all Vince would have had to do was lean over a bit, and grabbed the bottle.  He caught sight of the sink, which was faintly stained purple from what he assumed was hair dye. Now that Vince was on his own it seemed he’d eliminated the rule that he could only rinse his hair outside. He was free to pursue the hair muse to his heart’s content. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then just dump some into the tub.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard rolled his eyes. “I’ll just do everything then, shall I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Howard. You’re a peach.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard poured the contents of the bottle into the tub and impossibly large bubbles formed. They floated up and when each one popped it had a different scent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Orange blossom. Lilac. Strawberry. Vanilla. Fresh cut grass. They never overran each other. Each one distinct and separate and gone before the next scent asserted itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tub was nearly full. Howard lowered himself into the tub with a little groan. And that took the water right up to the edge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now that he was in the tub he found he couldn’t move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince took pity on Howard and turned off the taps himself so Howard didn’t have to try and sit up again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He climbed into the tub. It was full to the brim with just Howard and when Vince climbed in, water sloshed over the side and splattered on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a hazard,” Howard murmured, but his voice was so low and slow that Vince didn’t even consider taking his concern seriously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His small dark chocolate eyes blinked more and more slowly until they just didn’t open at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince laid down on top of Howard. So their stomachs were pressed together and he could rest his head on Howard’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard traced lazy patterns on his back. Up and down, sometimes scritching at his scalp other times dropping down down down to trace the crease of his arse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scent of the bubble bath clouded Vince’s mind. It really was rather good. It was one of the first potions he’d ever developed himself. Not only did it smell amazing, it also kept the water the perfect temperature for hours, made it so you didn’t prune up, and kept all your muscles nice and supple so your back wouldn’t hurt from lying in the tub too long. Once he’d perfected the potion he would sometimes spend the entire day in the tub. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only sounds were the gently lapping water echoing off the tiles and their deep breathing falling into sync. Vince’s eyes drifted closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Howard woke up he was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was still warm. He must not have slept for too long. But when he looked out the window it was getting dark. They’d apparently been in the tub for hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard felt strange. Off. Like something, some part of him was missing, but he couldn’t identify what it was. He rolled his shoulders testing if that was where the feeling was coming from, shifting Vince just a bit. Vince huffed a little sigh but didn’t stir. His shoulders were part of it. A tension that had been living in them for, well, almost his entire life was gone. He didn’t need to constantly remind himself to lower his shoulders as they tended to drift upwards whenever he was stressed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that wasn’t the whole of it. He took a deep breath in. And it seemed to be a deeper breath than he’d ever taken even when he had been in his best shape and playing the trumpet every day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that wasn’t the whole of it either. He lifted one of his hands off of Vince’s back and traced the furrows that had taken up permanent residence on his brow since his early twenties. Except they were barely there. The worry and tension that left him with a near constant headache was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just felt...good. And the sensation was so foreign to him, so alien, that his first instinct was that something was wrong. But for the first time in a long time. Possibly ever. Nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the past Bryan confronts Bainbridge. In the present Vince and Howard make funeral preparations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was time for Bryan Ferry and Dixon Bainbridge to have a conversation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They hadn’t spoken since Bryan had returned home early because he was worried about how strangely Vince had been acting, so subdued, not himself, and found Bainbridge in bed with his 13 year old son. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Bryan was angry. Truly angry. He went ice cold. Vince had never seen it. And God willing he never would. But Bainbridge had. And he would again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan gently closed the door to Vince’s bedroom, where he slept, still under the influence of the Eurythmic potion. He pulled a pencil from his pocket and drew a complex symbol on Vince’s door, it was a sound muffling spell. He didn’t want Vince to hear what was going on. Then he went into his room and came back out with a box of potions and a small withered stump with the tangled roots still attached. He sat the stump down and got some water from the sink. He dumped the water onto the stump and it grew into a wooden chair with holly leaves sprouting all over it.  He drew three x’s in chalk on the back of the front door to lower the ward around the house, he’d raise it again once his business was done. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With that handled he walked over to a faded chalk circle drawn on one wall. He tapped inside the circle three times and it opened into a portal. On the other side of the portal stood Dixon Bainbridge in his bathroom. Having a piss.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan didn’t even wait for him to shake off, he just grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him through the portal and into the cottage.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Christ man!” Bainbridge said, putting himself away. “It’s bad form to grab one during such an intimate moment.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan shoved Bainbridge down in the holly chair. Branches wrapped around Bainbridge’s arms and legs. The prickly leaves puncturing his skin. Drawing blood. Bainbridge struggled to rise and the branches tightened. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan turned to his potion cabinet. Rattling bottles. Searching for the right one. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you what would happen.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What are you on about?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you what would happen if you ever came near Vince again.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“See here, Ferry, you’re completely overreacting.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan held up a bottle to the light. Squinting at it, before deciding against it and setting it back down.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge wrenched one arm free but then more branches grew, pulling his arm back down and another wrapped around his throat. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What exactly are you planning to do? Who do you think the police are going to believe? The son of the wealthiest man in Beron or the witch in the woods and his girlyboy ward?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan thunked down a heavy glass bottle then continued to rifle through the box.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And there’s John Moon to contend with. Do you really think he’s going to let this go? He thinks your boy gave his boy a love potion.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And where on earth would he have gotten that idea?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge shrank into the chair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It seems you’ve been busier than I could have possibly imagined,” Bryan said. He plucked a few more bottles from the box then walked over to Bainbridge.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge’s eyes grew wider with every step. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan crouched down in front of Bainbridge, he was quite tall so it put them at eye level. He held up a bright red potion with bits of sinew and bone floating in it.  “This one makes you feel like every bone in your body is broken. Physically you’ll be fine, but you’ll never be able to move again without excruciating pain.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He held up a bottle filled with the most hypnotic acid green potion inside. “This one erases your brain, you won’t remember how to speak, how to eat, how not to soil yourself, your family will have to take care of you for the rest of your life, or perhaps they’ll just place you in a home.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan held up the last bottle. Brackish black potion sloshed inside. He pressed the bottle to Bainbridge’s face. “And finally, this one turns you inside out and then rightside in, slowly, over and over, for eternity. And you’ll be conscious the entire time.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge tried to kick away, anything to free himself from the holly chair, but the branches just tightened. Beads of blood dripped down his neck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan stood up, holding all three bottles. “Pick one.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is sadistic. I won’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine. All three then.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge rocked back in the chair, then swayed side to side, lunged forward, anything to free himself from the grasp of the holly chair. All to no avail. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan pulled the stopper on the bottle of Bonebreaker.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen!” Bainbridge’s voice went high in panic. “I can help you. Do you think John Moon will ever stop coming after your boy?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can handle one drunk bastard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What about all his friends? He’s quite popular.  Can you really protect him from every man in town?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if to illustrate his point there was a loud knock at the door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan crept over to the window and looked outside, taking care to remain out of sight. Gathered around the cottage were ten or fifteen men. Another stood on the front step. Friends of John Moon. He may have had to drive his boy back to Leeds, but he could count on his mates to do what needed done. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The one on the step. He shouldn’t have been able to get so close. The wards should have stopped him. They should have-what a fool he was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bring out the witch child!” The man on the front step called. His nose was bright red with burst capillaries. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s done nothing!” Bryan yelled. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It would take hours to put the wards back up. He was outnumbered. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A rock smashed through the window.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Baibridge had quite the smug look on his face until the branches of holly tightened around his throat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell them to leave. Or I’ll snap your neck,” Bryan snarled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think you will,” Bainbridge said, “and I think you’re running out of time.“</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Nose pounded on the door. Then his fists were joined by more. The men pounded on the door, trying to knock it down. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d think very carefully about your next move,” Bainbridge said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan ran out of the room and returned with a net woven from spider webs and willow branches. He held it in front of the door. It would strengthen the door but it wouldn’t last forever.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince. Vince run!” He yelled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But there was no sound from Vince’s room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vince! You have to wake up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They were through the door now. The only thing keeping the men from breaking into their home was the magical barricade that Bryan had to hold in place. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mm, things seem quite serious now,” Bainbridge said. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan hated his smug tone. He was right. Which made it all the more intolerable. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course they would listen to me. If we were to come to some sort of agreement.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“VINCE!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he remembered the deafening spell he had put on Vince’s door. Vince had no way of knowing what was happening. Bryan had dug himself quite the hole. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Call them off,” Bryan said, sounding defeated.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps a show of good faith first?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan waved his hand and the holly chair released Bainbridge. He stood up, rubbing at the puncture wounds at his throat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gents!” He called out. “Dixon Bainbridge here. I’m having a word with the witch, so stand down.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tha’ you Bainbridge?” One of the men yelled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes. It’s me. John sent me as his proxy. The witch and I are working out what’s to be done with the little tart. Give us a moment, but don’t stray too far.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge winked at Bryan. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The men stepped away from the door. They resumed their positions of a semi circle in front of the cottage.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan released the net then propped the door back up against the frame. With that done he turned to Bainbridge, shoulders slumped.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge smiled expansively. “See? Isn’t it better when we can all be friends?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll get them to leave him alone,” Bryan mumbled. He sat down at the kitchen table.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll tell them you removed the love spell on the Moon boy and that the witch child got exactly what he deserved,” Bainbridge said. “They’ll take me at my word. They’ll understand he’s taken his medicine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan stared at his clenched fists. His white knuckles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They won’t give him any more trouble. Well, no more than usual. If I tell them he’s had enough they’ll listen. They’re reasonable people.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan snorted bitterly at this. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t pout. You’re getting quite the deal considering everything you and that little shit have put me through the last couple days.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And what do you want in return?” Bryan asked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Something minor. You won’t even miss it. A bottle of love potion number nine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan was already shaking his head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t. I don’t have any and-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“There’s no point in lying. I know you keep some. You might not sell it. But I know you have it. I saw it the last time I... visited your humble abode.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge had thought it quite the find. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. I can’t give you that. I can give you anything else. I can make you rich.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m already rich,” Bainbridge said, examining his fingernails. “Look the terms of the deal are quite simple. Vince’s safety for a little bottle of love potion. If it doesn’t appeal, you could always leave town.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge studied Bryan’s face.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Except you can’t, can you? I wonder why that is.” Bainbridge tilted his head, staring at Bryan with renewed interest, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. “In any case. I think I’m your best shot old boy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan didn’t move.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could always call John’s friends in here? I’m afraid they’re not interested in such childish games as dunk the witch. They’ll likely take a much more...serious approach.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan brushed one shaking hand through his hair. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d like to say you have all the time in the world, but my God man, you’ve no play here, and I’d appreciate moving things along. It may shock you that wasting my time with trash like that little slut was not what I had planned for such a fine summer day.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan sucked on his teeth. It burned him up inside to have to capitulate to Bainbridge. But he had to protect Vince. It was all that mattered. Damn his pride that had gotten them into this mess. And damn Dixon Bainbridge.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan walked into his room and returned with what looked like an old fashioned soda bottle with a wire lever stopper to hold in the carbonated bubblegum pink potion within. It had an old fashioned apothecary style label on it. Fancy script. Love Potion No. 9.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan hesitated. But only for a moment. He had to protect Vince. And Bainbridge was right. He couldn’t leave. The protection spell would break if they did. And it was impossible to cast it again. This was the only way Vince would be safe. Even if he could never look him in the eye again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He gave Bainbridge the potion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You made the right choice,” Bainbridge said, “the only choice really.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get out of my house.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Too right. Goodbye Ferry. Pleasure was all mine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bainbridge strolled out of the cottage. Bryan was never sure what Bainbride said to them. Never sure what he told John Moon, but whatever he said had the desired effect. For those first few weeks whenever Vince walked by any of the men who had come to the cottage that day, they would nudge each other and smirk behind their hands, pointing at him, and speaking in not particularly hushed tones about how the witch child had learned his lesson.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was in a fog and didn’t notice any of it. By the time he was feeling more himself the novelty had worn off and things were more or less back to normal. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When the fall terms started Vince couldn’t face the prospect of school. His relationship with his teachers had only deteriorated as he got older and he didn’t feel safe anymore. Bryan agreed but insisted that they focus more on Vince’s training as a witch. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For months not one of Vince’s spells or potions worked. He mixed all the ingredients correctly. He followed all the instructions perfectly. But there was no light. No spark. No magic. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>On New Year’s Eve, Vince and John Moon ran into each other for the first time. Either through luck or careful planning on Vince’s part they had not been within a city block of each other since the summer. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince was feeling a bit more himself. Bryan had given him some money for Christmas and he was going to check the vintage shop for Christmas castoffs, his favorite New Year’s tradition. It was the first time in months he’d been interested in anything besides listening to The Mixtape and staring at the wall in his room. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The sidewalks were icy and Vince was watching his feet to make sure he didn’t fall down and so he didn’t see who was walking down the sidewalk. He almost ran straight into Mr. Moon. He snapped his head up at the last moment and saw who it was. He was so surprised his legs shot out from underneath him and he fell down hard on his ass. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince froze. Like a little mouse caught out in the open by a cat. His only prayer that the cat would lose interest and move on. A wide cruel smile curled across John’s face as he just kept walking. He was satisfied.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince got up and ran home. Falling down on the ice a few more times but too scared to go slow. Too scared to be careful.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But John never came after Vince. Not once. Whatever Bainbridge had said. It had worked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And eventually the magic came back. Bryan taught Vince how to make beauty potions and spells to turn his legs into ram’s legs, just to see him smile. He taught him how to sew with magic and how to make fire paste out of lemon, basil, and flour to defend himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He also taught Vince how to magically glue his mouth shut so if his grandparents ever found him they wouldn’t be able to force him to drink a love potion. It worked as long as Vince remained silent. Vince’s record was 11 minutes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t leave the cottage for three days. They talked. They laughed. Howard cooked. Vince made Howard watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Practical Magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Generally you only really remember the first time you watch a film. Each subsequent view dampens the magic just a bit. But the magic can be restored if you show the film to someone else. And Vince was in love with the movie all over again. He kept glancing over at Howard during all the best bits. And when all the horrible girls were being terrible to baby Nicole Kidman, Howard reached up and stroked Vince’s hair. He did that anytime anyone was mean to the witches onscreen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the movie was over Vince sat up to grab the remote and turn off the TV then snuggled back into Howard’s side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well romantic right? And Nicole Kidman looks amazin’ in this film. What you think? Should I dye my hair red?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard brushed Vince’s fringe out of his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stuck his bottom lip out and pretended to pout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You better put that lip away or I’ll have to do something about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? What you gonna do?” Vince’s eyes sparkled with mischief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll put the moves on you sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ain’t got any moves. You sold all your moves. I saw ‘em in the pawn shop. You sold em all off for drug money.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I scraped up the cash to buy them back. Got a good deal on a gambling addict’s theremin as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One stop shoppin’,” Vince said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They throw anything else in, while you was dickering? Coke necklace? Gold pinky ring? Leopard print shirt? Porn camera?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes. I am well on my way to being able to shoot avant garde experimental porn. Would you like to star in it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s my scene partner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me. And my moves.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I better see a demonstration.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard picked up Vince and carried him shrieking to the bedroom to demonstrate his moves. The demonstration lasted for several hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were lying in bed, Vince curled around Howard, tracing his fingers up and down Howard’s bare chest when they heard Howard’s phone ring from the front room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If we don’t move, it’’ll go away,” Howard said, morphing his face into an exaggerated rictus and speaking out the side of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This strategy had worked well for them any other time the phone had rang, but whoever was calling this time seemed quite determined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After approximately 8,000 rings Howard groaned and rolled out of the bed. He tried to grab the sheet off the bed to wrap himself in but Vince snatched it away. Howard gave him a withering glare then went to answer the phone completely starkers save for his sock garters. Vince thoroughly enjoyed the view. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Howard was in the living room he found a throw blanket to cover up with. The little titbox took every excuse to keep him naked. Vince had even rendered his clothes invisible for an entire afternoon. He had no concept of turnabout being fair play though as he went visibly faint when Howard mentioned the possibility of something similar happening to </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard picked up his phone and hit the answer button. “Yes. Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the funeral home. They’d been holding his father’s body for almost an entire week and it was “really rather important” that he make the arrangements.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yes. Of course. Um. What needs to be done?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, your father purchased a burial plot, so that has been handled,” the funeral director said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard felt some tension leave his shoulders. Maybe his father had already made his own arrangements. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make any more decis-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that just leaves everything else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll need to know where you would like the service held.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At the chu-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what music will you like for the service?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll need to pick out a coffin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you arranged for pallbearers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard ran his fingers through his hair. “No. Not-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will there be a reception after? Will you have anyone speak? Will there be a viewing? Would you care to look at our memorial products?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Memorial products?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Signature books, programs, signage, a soil disbursement shaker, silver plated shovel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I don’t-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince could tell Howard was floundering. He remembered feeling much the same way when Bryan passed away. So many decisions and they were all so permanent. You only got one shot at your father’s funeral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pulled on his kimono and walked into the front room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sat hunched over with his hand covering his face while the funeral director buried him under an avalanche of options.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince gently plucked the phone from Howard’s hand and held it up to his own ear. He ran his fingers through Howard’s messy curls. Howard pressed his face into Vince’s stomach. Already calming down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll have the service at the church. Right. Yeah...I dunno what kind a music. Something Jesus-y. You’re the expert not me. Just pick somethin’!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard snorted at Vince’s tone with the funeral director. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, they’ll do a reception. Potluck. All the daft old birds are gonna bring food anyway, no need to waste money on coldcuts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked down at Howard. “You remember any a’ your dad’s mates?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Mort? I don’ care if that’s not your name. Listen Mort. Call Birdy Lewis. I know you got her number. She comes to every bleedin’ funeral. Yeah. Tell her John Moon needs pallbearers. Ask her to arrange it. Yeah. She’ll love it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard twisted his fingers together. Only half listening as Vince made all of the arrangements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get stuffed. He don’ need any a’ that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should feel like an abject failure. Letting Vince handle everything. His father was probably spinning in his refrigerated drawer since his son had not managed to plant him in a grave yet. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Vince was doing a fantastic job. A surprisingly fantastic job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll not watch my tone. We’re in mournin’ over ‘ere and you’re tryin’ ta sell us a shiny shovel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard laughed loudly and clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Keep yer hair on. That about covers it. No. We’ll come in later to pick out the coffin. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince hung up. “We better get ready. We’re goin’ coffin shoppin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t relish the thought of venturing forth from their little bubble of happiness into the harsh outside world but it had to be done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposed he should go and fetch some of his things and they did need provisions as they were running quite low on food. Vince might be able to survive on the sugar found at the bottom of a packet of sour straws but Howard Moon needed sustenance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard quickly showered and sat waiting for Vince to get ready. Normally he would be annoyed by how long it was taking but he was in no rush to head into town. Maybe Vince would get taken by the hair muse and they’d have to wait until tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But soon, too soon, Vince was ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was dressed in exactly the manner in which you would expect someone with Vince’s dramatic nature to be dressed when they are going to pick out their ancient enemy’s coffin. A head scarf. Large cat eye sunglasses. A pitch black ladies trench coat. Bright red lipstick. And-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you draw on a beauty mark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s part of the aesthetic Howard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that coat...It’s the dead of summer. Aren’t you going to get hot in that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fashion knows no temperature.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stuck out a gloved hand (Christ he was going to be boiling) and wiggled his fingers invitingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard could feel the blush creeping up his face. He reached out and took Vince’s hand. And didn’t let go once the entire walk into town. </span>
</p>
<p>3.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bryan had been dead a couple days and Vince was sure that he must be cried out. He was scared to drink any water because he was fairly certain that the only reason he’d finally been able to stop was because his body had finally run out of moisture. He’d put on a dab of face cream and  cried for half an hour. He would not be risking that again. His face hurt. His legs hurt. His stomach hurt. And of course his heart hurt. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was only twenty. Bryan was supposed to be there to boss him around for many years to come. He wasn’t supposed to be gone. Not already. He’d felt like they were just finally beginning to understand each other. Vince had come up with a few potions on his own and Bryan sold them right along with his own. Everything with the townsfolk had finally settled down and they were mostly left to their own devices. Now that Vince was a bit older he found that he and Bryan had all sorts of things to talk about. Bryan told him all sorts of stories about his days with his coven before they’d split up and he’d turned to selling unethical spells that no reputable witch would even consider. He showed Vince some of the music he’d made in his younger days and laughed when Vince declared it “genius!”.  For the first time it registered that Bryan loved animals just as much as he did. Bryan only knew how to speak bird, though he was almost conversational in lizard. He confessed to Vince that he’d always been curious what bears talked about and laughed uproariously when Vince told him they mostly liked to talk about the strength and durability of various wheelie bin lids.  They had long conversations with Elisha that went well into the night, until Elisha died when Vince was 18, everyone was dying, soon who would be left?  It wasn’t fair. For Bryan to die in a stupid accident when things had been getting so good. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince could feel his lip going all wobbly, a sure sign he was going to start crying again. They’d called him and asked him where he wanted them to take Bryan’s body. And he hadn’t had an answer. Was he supposed to hold a funeral? Who was going to come? Where was he supposed to have it? At the church? Not bloody likely. If Bryan had purchased a burial plot it was not something he’d discussed with Vince. He’d resigned himself to curling up on the couch listening to one of Bryan’s old albums until he died of dehydration or the world ended. Whichever came first. Anything would be easier than trying to deal with all these...logistics. He hadn’t felt this confused and overwhelmed since he’d left school. He had no idea where to even begin and the only person he could turn to was the person he was completely letting down.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A few hours later he was sitting on the couch listening to the amplified rumble and bump of a record that had reached its end but hadn’t been turned off. He’d been staring straight ahead not really seeing or hearing anything. Just thinking. Then there was a knock at the door. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can’ you read?” He called out, his voice all cracked. “We’re closed. Due to bereavement?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The knocking grew louder. He sniffled loudly then wiped under his eyes, knowing they were all red and puffy.  He pulled open the door.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What you want?” He said, expecting some woman who’d driven from three towns over for her gravity defying cream, but was surprised to find a group of very strange beings crowded around his front doorstep. They all dressed quite strangely and many had odd eyes and accents. All of Bryan’s friends. Fellow witches. Wizards. Shaman. The odd druid. They’d all come to pay their respects. A lot of people. A lot of non-people too. Naboo and his familiar Bollo, a danish witch named Sandi, Bryan’s ex coven-mate Brian, a beautiful and ethereal man who Vince couldn’t stop staring at. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The arrival of the mourners had given Vince a sense of purpose. He felt better with something to focus on. Hosting all these magical beings. He was immensely grateful to them for showing up when they did. They helped him make all the arrangements and the next night at midnight they held a ceremony for Bryan in the woods where they committed his body to the earth. The visitors all joined hands around Bryan’s grave, the small blond witch named Sandi drew Vince into the circle as well and told him to just sort of mouth along, they spoke the sacred words and a tree grew and reached full maturity in front of their very eyes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In the end Vince thought Bryan’s funeral went rather well. He hadn’t really imagined that the first party he ever hosted  would be his foster father’s wake but there it was. They’d committed Bryan’s body to the earth and then proceeded to get shitfaced. Naboo and a couple other shaman, named Saboo and Tony Harrison, said it was what Bryan would have wanted. Though Vince had had to remind Tony of Bryan’s name. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Every once in a while Vince would even catch himself smiling and then feel guilty. He wasn’t supposed to be having a good time. Bryan was dead. But these people really had excellent taste in booze and drugs and music. And Brian had complimented him on his mourner’s veil. And they’d just put on Rhiannon and it was Stevie and he just let the Mac work their magic. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He lost himself in the music and his memories of Bryan. Bryan had not been perfect, but he’d done his best. He was the only father Vince had ever known. They’d fought. They’d laughed. Bryan never called him thick or gave up on showing him how to do something just because he’d already screwed it up twice. He protected Vince when it mattered. Vince had felt lonely his whole life. But this would be the first time he was actually alone.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Some arseholes tried to hassle Vince while he was dancing. The other members of the funeral party made their displeasure known and they were not bothered the rest of the night. Vince wished they would never leave. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he had to rattle around in that old cottage all by himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They closed out the Wayward Vicar and then everyone left, portaling to their respective homes. Leaving Vince alone once again. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. He was too fucked up to reminisce, too emotional to listen to music, and too wired to sleep. So he just paced, scolding the lizards to stay out from under his feet. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was fruitlessly flipping through his record collection despite the fact that he knew it was a bad idea when he heard a crash and some whispering from outside. Then there was a terrific boom and quite a lot of cursing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince grabbed a few potions and yanked open the door. At least the wards had held up. He wasn’t strong on wards himself and he’d been worried that Bryan’s died with him, but they’d held. Bainbridge, Joey, Jean Claude, Corky, and Fossil. He wasn’t surprised. If anything he was surprised they hadn’t come sooner. Like the night Bryan died. He disappeared back into the cottage and came back out with a bottle of vodka.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘Lo boys,” he called out. He sat down on the front step, knowing they couldn’t get to him. Though they could throw something, he supposed. The wards did not do well with projectiles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d offer you a drink but uh, fuck you,” Vince held up the bottle in their general direction, “to you”, he took a long drink.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just thought we’d come and check on you. See how you were doing,” Bainbridge said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wow. That is so sweet. I’m doin’ amazin’. Can’t you tell?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Things are going to be different now little Noir. Now that the wicked witch of the woods isn’t here to protect you.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Go on then. Do your worst.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not a one of them moved. Vince knew they wouldn’t. They never tried anything unless they had the full advantage. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “Kinda what I figured. Nuffin’s gonna change Bainbridge. Nothing ever changes.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A couple tears drifted from Vince’s eyes, but no more. Vince wiped them away with a bitter laugh. “These aren’t for you, don't ever think that.” He took another sip and said, almost to himself, “don’t ever think that.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He took another long drink, maybe even too long.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get the fuck off my property.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince walked back into the house. He put on Gary Numan loud enough to be heard in the next town over. It was certainly loud enough to drown out the sound of bottles and rocks smacking the side of the  house, it was loud enough to drown out the hate, the invectives, the vitriol. And it was loud enough to drown out his own sobs. He missed Bryan so much.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat in a pink coffin with purple liner in the coffin showroom at the funeral home. “Howard, I think you should seriously consider this one,” he said with faux sincerity. “I think it’s what your dad would have wanted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. He covered up his eyes and when he uncovered them he saw an old white haired woman glaring at them and that made him laugh even harder. “Sorry ma’am, terribly sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’ apolgize to ‘er, she’s killed her last three husbands. Two more she fills the punch card and and gets the next coffin free.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince! You can’t joke about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked offended. “Who’s jokin’? Her cat told me all about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard walked back over to Vince away from the oak cadillac coffin he’d been examining with morbid curiosity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck out his hand. “Will you get out of there please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rolled his eyes then grabbed Howard’s hand and let Howard help him out of the coffin. As Vince was climbing out, the coffin rocked and for a moment Howard thought the whole affair was going to topple over at which point he would have to climb into one of the coffins and ask Vince to bury him because he was going to die from embarrassment, but they managed to steady it and Vince was safely back on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sank onto the ground right in the middle of the showroom, all strength gone from his legs at the close call. He let out a long sigh, a bit giggly. He covered his eyes with his hand again.  “Is this you helping?” He giggled some more. “It’s not helping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’m doin’ brilliantly,” Vince said. He’d removed his head scarf but left the shades on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Are you cryin’ right now or are you laughin’?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you the smart one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard noticed that Vince was looking a bit...sweaty? He’d never known Vince to be sweaty in public, though he now knew Vince got quite sweaty in private. But yes, there was moisture gathering on his upper lip. He looked a bit flushed. And his hair was, it felt like blasphemy to say it but it was true, limp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm-hm?” Vince said, the very picture of nonchalance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your beauty mark has migrated. More of a beauty streak now.” A slow smile spread across Howard’s face as he realized what was going on. He stood up. “You’re getting hot aren’t you? That coat is too bloody hot. That’s it isn’t it? I was right. Oh, I told you. Yes. I told you!” Howard was getting quite excited. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>got to say I told you so. This was amazing. He was riding high. He had to make it a point to be right more often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sneered, but it was very unconvincing. “Nooooo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you are. You’re sweating buckets. Just take it off. You’re gonna have a heat stroke. I think they’re running the heat in here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped forward to unbutton Vince’s coat. Vince slapped his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. Come on, this is silly, surely fashion can’t be worth all that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince glanced away from Howard, a bit abashed, a bit mischievous. “It’s not that.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what is it?” Howard pulled off Vince’s sunglasses and folded them away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince mumbled something barely audible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince mumbled a bit louder but not any more intelligible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ain’t wearin’ nuffin’ underneath.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s mind short circuited. “You’re-you’re not wearing anything underneath?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Vince was definitely blushing now. It was fucking adorable and was making it very hard for Howard to figure out how he felt about the situation. He finally settled on amused. Mostly so he could have a bit of fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No dress?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No shirt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stared at the floor. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No pants?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s face couldn’t seem to decide between embarrassed or pleased with himself. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Care to explain yourself little man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. So you know how sometimes people get really horny at funerals?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard just stared at him impassively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rushed to fill the silence. “So basically I was thinkin’ that if you got horny cos you was thinkin’ about death n’ like mortality and goin’ well dark or wotever, then like maybe you’d wanna go ‘ave a shag in the toilet and you’d feel better and so I thought this would give us sorta easier access. Like I wasn’t gonna suggest it or nothing, just like if you wanted it, then it’d be sort of a nice little surprise. Otherwise I’d just wear the coat the whole time, but it is really hot Howard. It’s June, why’s he got the heat on? I’m boilin’.” He fanned himself with his hand. “So ‘m sorry Howard. I didn’t think it through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard allowed his stern stare to morph into an exasperated smile. “You cheeky tart.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked up at him hopefully. “You aren’t angry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not quite believing what he was doing he grabbed Vince’s hand. “Come with me.” He dragged Vince toward the men’s room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>20  minutes later and they still hadn’t come out. The funeral director stood outside the bathroom door. Unsure how to proceed. The poor chap must have been absolutely overcome with grief, because he was loudly moaning and wailing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The funeral director knocked on the door as asked if they were alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The small rude one answered that they were quite alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The funeral director asked if there was anything he could do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The small rude one called out that it was a kind offer but he had the situation well in hand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they came out of the men’s room, Vince wore Howard’s plain white shirt buttoned all the way down, long enough that it looked like a dress. He’d turned his scarf into a headband and he had his sunglasses back on. He looked effortlessly chic and cool. Like some sexy french girl in some sexy french film. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard looked like a lunatic, wearing corduroys, no shirt, and a ladies trench coat several sizes too small. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince marched confidently over to the funeral director. “Plain pine box Mort.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, are you sure that’s-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plain pine box. Mort. Thanks, you’re a peach. Come along Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince grabbed Howard’s hand and pulled him toward the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The funeral director called after them. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see the Crestmont. Very tasteful. Reasonably priced.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Mort. Gotta be going. You’ve been a great help. I’ll send some business your way.” Vince tipped Howard a wink that even most cartoon characters would agree was over the top.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t,” Mort said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince and Howard both giggled as they stumbled back out onto the sunny sidewalk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The funeral was to be the next day.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the present, John Moon's funeral. In the past, Howard speaks with his father for the last time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night Howard sat in an armchair in the front room of the cottage. Trying to write a eulogy that wasn’t a complete lie. He’d thought he might be able to address his complicated relationship with his father. Find some positivity amongst all the pain. Why he thought he was capable of doing this he wasn’t sure, as finding positivity amongst the pain was basically the complete opposite of how he approached most situations. He was much better at finding negativity amongst the joy. But he was trying.  Jotting down notes. Scribbling them out. Roughing his hands through his hair until it stood up in lunatic spikes. Finally after a couple hours Vince gently took the notebook from his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, Howard didn’t even notice at first. He’d been staring off into space. Then he felt Vince run his fingers through his hair and he snapped back to reality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give it back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s got to be ready for tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No it doesn’t. Let someone else speak. Someone who liked him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m his son-I have to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince crouched down in front of Howard, his hands resting on Howard’s legs, his eyes staring deep into Howard’s. Very serious. “No. You don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head, he just couldn’t comprehend what Vince was saying. A man’s son. His only son. Should speak at his funeral. It was right. It was proper. He just had to stop being such a sally and do it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince grabbed Howard’s hands, squeezing them gently. “Look at you. You’re tying yourself up in knots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head. “I’ve almost got it, I just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince squeezed Howard’s hands harder. “Listen to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was not listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you listening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was your dad. But he was also an abusive arsehole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was listening. “I know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’ have to blow sunshine up these people’s arses about your dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s the right thing to do. I should just be able to-” Howard kept stuttering and sputtering. He was sure there was some sort of coherent argument in there somewhere, but damned if he could find it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard. Howard. Howard. Howard. Howard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let someone else speak. Just tell the priest to invite anyone who knew John to stand up and speak. Let his mates do it. Or Birdy. Someone will do it Howard. It doesn’t have to be you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly Vince’s words sank in. He...didn’t have to do it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s mind screamed and railed against the notion. Vince was wrong. Didn’t know what he was talking about. He had no way of understanding the complexities of a father son relationship. Bryan wasn’t his father and Vince wasn’t his son. It was just different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A niggling snivelling cruel part of Howard’s brain, the part his father had successfully infected and he’d never been able to get rid of, pointed out that Vince just wasn’t masculine enough to understand. There was just some part of a father son relationship Vince could not understand because he didn’t care about the things that real men, real sons, were supposed to care about.  The sanctity of blood relationships. The obligation to carry on the family name. HONOR THY FATHER. Vince barely knew his father. He certainly wouldn’t be obligated to speak at his funeral. Probably didn’t even know if he was still alive and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was finally enough. He would not tolerate these increasingly unkind thoughts about Vince. Who was only trying to help. And was actually doing a rather marvelous job which Howard would know if he was capable of removing his head from his own arse for two minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gears in Howard’s head were grinding so hard there was practically smoke pouring from his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just hate to see you hurting yourself like this,” Vince said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And at that Howard melted. Smiled and leaned forward and kissed Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was right. He did not owe his father a eulogy. He didn’t owe the horrible people in this horrible town a pack of lies about how kind and caring and lovely his father was. Maybe John Moon had been those things to someone but he hadn’t been them to Howard. Not for a very long time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you little man,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince plopped down in his lap. “It’s all selfish really. I just wanted you to pay attention to me instead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard ran his fingers through Vince’s hair. Vince hummed and leaned into the touch. “That so? And what were you hoping to do with my attention once you had it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shrugged. “Dunno. Magnets?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Magnets? What about magnets?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Tha’s your department idn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The magnet department?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Just knowin’ what we should do next. All that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s time for dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nooo,” Vince whined. “Not that. You’re so borin’. We should do something fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is what comes from gaining my attention sir. Maybe you would prefer I go back to the eulogy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. Bad idea all round. I guess dinner would be all right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well thank you for your approval High Queen Margaret.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard cooked them dinner. Then they threw on one of Vince’s VHS tapes. Vince fell asleep with his head in Howard’s lap and Howard had to carry him to bed. Howard pretended not to notice the little smile as it curled on Vince’s lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p><em><span>Jean Claude wormed his way back into Vince’s life a few days after Bryan’s funeral.</span></em> <em><span>He showed up at Vince’s close to midnight. And he managed to get past the wards. His intentions were good. He apologized for his part in Bainbridge’s stunt and Vince could tell he was sincere. And he didn’t try it on. He left and when he came back he was still able to get past the wards. And Vince knew. He knew that he could never actually love Jean Claude. Knew that his heart only truly belonged to one person. But he also couldn’t bear to subject himself to a lifetime without physical affection, and so he and Jean Claude slept together. And most times Jean Claude made it through the wards. And sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes Vince took down the wards and let him in anyway because he didn’t have good intentions either. </span></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eventually they all came crawling back. And slowly Vince let them in. All except for Bainbridge. Bainbridge kept his distance. Biding his time. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shockingly it was taking Howard longer to get ready for the funeral than it had taken Vince. Howard had not been sure what to expect of Vince’s funeral outfit. The black victorian gown he told Howard he’d worn to Bryan’s funeral? A t-shirt that said “ding dong the witch is dead” in pink sparkles? A bright red vinyl jumpsuit? He just wasn’t sure. He’d been quite surprised to find Vince in plain black trousers, a fitted suit jacket and a plain white button down with just two buttons undone instead of his customary four or five. He wore a bit of eyeliner but no other makeup. He looked shorter than usual as he had replaced his customary platforms with some low-heeled black beatle boots. His hair was neither root boosted nor teased. It was a shockingly restrained look and one that he didn’t seem entirely comfortable in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince caught Howard staring, he kicked at the floor bashfully. “Didn’t wanna go over the top right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was grateful, even though he felt bad, as if he should tell Vince to wear whatever he wanted and sod all the rest.  But in his private heart of hearts he was relieved that Vince hadn’t chosen to wear something outrageous. He may be shagging the witch of the woods, but underneath it all he was still the same Howard Moon who always tried to do the right and proper thing and struggled valiantly to be rude in even the most justified of circumstances. He just wanted to get the funeral finished with as little fanfare as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he could figure out what to wear. They’d stopped briefly at Howard’s father’s house before returning home. When he pulled his one suit (purchased years ago when he’d had to interview for his first teaching job) out of the garment bag he’d found that it had been almost completely consumed by moths. Vince had been mortified. He’d told Howard he had an arrangement with all the moths in the area to stay away from his clothes and they kept all the newcomers in line. This left Howard with very few options that could be deemed funeral appropriate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard moved away from his fashion conundrum to kiss the crown of Vince’s head. “Little Man, you look amazing. I...on the other hand, am having a crisis.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shy look dropped off Vince’s face replaced by an excited one. “A fashion crisis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A real fashion crisis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like an actual, genuine, honest to god, I don’t got nuffin’ to wear fashion crisis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. You’re scaring me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had been waiting for this moment for twenty years. The chance to finally have a go at Howard’s wardrobe. The secret that Howard didn’t seem to want anyone to know was that he was well fit. For some reason he insisted on hiding it under ill-fitting and horrifically colored clothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was very exciting, but Vince needed to exercise some restraint, which was not something he was known for. But he had to. Maybe if he did a good job picking out Howard’s clothes, Howard would let him pick them out again, for a more fun event. So nothing too outlandish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The funeral was only an hour away so he was going to have to work fast. He would have liked to pull out his sewing machine to take a few things in, but he was going to have to rely on magical stitching. It was messier and didn’t hold as well in the long term but it was faster and would do in a pinch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dashed into Bryan’s room. Vince had never gotten rid of Bryan’s things. He loved Bryan’s clothes and even wore them himself from time to time. Howard had quite a similar build so surely there would be something that would work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was fairly certain Vince was under the monumental pile of clothes advancing on him but he couldn’t be 100% sure.  Since it was entirely within the realm of possibility that Vince had at one point enchanted his clothes to be sentient, had his now-sentient clothes morph into a clothes pile monster, lost control of said clothes pile monster, and then just sort of forgotten about the whole thing.  So if he cringed away a bit and maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span> said “Don’t kill me, I’ve got so much to give” then whose fault was it really? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince emerged from the clothes pile, staring at him like he was daft. “What you on about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I picked out a few things, thought you could help narrow it down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince held up several options but to Howard they all looked like the exact same plain black suit. So eventually Vince just shoved one into his hands and told him to go get changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard came out of Vince’s bedroom looking uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than usual. The suit pulled at all the wrong places and just wasn’t right. Vince watched Howard move, one eye squinted and his head cocked to the side in deep thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he walked over to the kitchen table, dragged out a chair and pointed at it. “Alright, up you get.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get on the chair. I gotta work on your cuffs first. They’re draggin’, makes you look like a toddler at a weddin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not getting up there. It’s a hazard. I’ll fall over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be daft. It’ll be fine. Come on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you just crouch down?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m saving my knees.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard crossed his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard. If you’re not up on that chair in ten seconds I’m gonna throw a bitch fit the likes of which have never been seen. No boyfriend of mine is gonna look like a Dick Tracy villain at his father’s funeral.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard smirked at him. “Boyfriend, am I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rolled his eyes and smiled back. “Well yes. Only been waitin’ twenty years, no sense muckin’ about with a “what are we?” conversation right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Howard replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course he had been prepared for an elongated “what are we?” conversation but he was grateful that Vince was ready to skim right past it. He was right. They’d waited long enough. And after they got past today then they could take all the time they needed to figure out their next step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had no job, no home, and no obligations. He’d briefly tossed around the idea of moving back to Leeds, or possibly taking Vince to London or Paris. Or wherever Vince wanted to go really. He’d always sort of wondered why Vince had stayed all these years since he hated the village so much, but he supposed it was the only home, and Bryan the only family, he’d ever known. The only thing Howard was certain about was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard climbed up onto the chair and Vince dragged out his sewing kit. He pinned the cuffs of Howard’s trousers and then set a magic needle to stitching while he worked on fitting the rest of the suit. Howard was quite impressed with the magic needle at first but became progressively less impressed with it every time it stabbed him in the ankle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All Howard could see was the top of Vince’s head as he worked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Vince this quiet before. Adjusting the fit of the suit, removing a pin from his mouth, and pinning the fabric in place. Every once in a while he would stand back to take in the full effect, then he’d quietly murmur to himself and move back in to pinch a seam together or adjust the length of the cuffs. The magic needle followed Vince’s hands, laying down stitching wherever Vince pinned. Whenever it was finished with a section it would drop down hanging, waiting for Vince to cut the thread so it could set to work again in a different spot. The only sound in the cottage was the quiet rustling of fabric. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stepped back, running his fingers through his hair, brushing it back out of his face, behind his ears. He tapped his chin with his finger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had thought the day of his father’s funeral he’d be a wreck. Agonizing over a eulogy. Dreading the cavalcade of handshakes and condolences. The small talk. The hugs and back pats from strangers. It was all a nightmare. But he felt very calm. He felt ready. Thanks to Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re astonishing, you know that?” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince glanced up at him quickly in surprise then ducked his head back down to concentrate on his work. “Don’t make me smile, I got pins in ‘m mouth.” Though his voice sounded a little odd...probably because he had pins in his mouth. He may have been trying to play it cool, but Howard could see the tips of his ears were going pink. Something he’d loved about Vince since they were kids was that whenever Vince blushed it was as bright and obvious as a stoplight.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pressed his face into his shoulder, that old secret smile routine. “Hold still. I’m almost done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince just couldn’t keep from smiling. He was losing pins everywhere but he didn’t care. It was amazing how Howard could make him feel like the most special person in the world with zero advance notice. Just out of nowhere say somethin’ like “you’re astonishing”, he was going to end up melting into a puddle of happiness. Never able to re-form. Never wanting to. Too happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince wasn’t too good with words. He was better with gestures. He wished he could say something good like “you’re astonishing” to Howard, but in all honesty he’d sort of forgotten the word astonishing existed until Howard brought it up. He didn’t have all the beautiful words stored up in his head. Only the ones he used the most seemed to stick around. If he had the words he’d tell Howard how astonishing he was. How kind he was. How he was a natural born teacher. How his whole face lit up when he spoke about music. Or heard music. Or when Vince could just tell he was thinking about music because of the big dumb smile on his face as he stared at the ceiling. How he made Vince laugh every minute. And how sometimes he drove Vince absolutely crazy with his properness and his indecisiveness and his cautiousness but the annoyance only made the moments like this sweeter. It’d all be dead boring if they got along perfectly all the time. Totally astonishing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Vince didn’t have those words. These feelings all washed over him in a swirl of impressionistic color and images. Maybe the suit would say it for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The magic needle finished its final stitch and made a neat little knot. Then dropped down hanging. He pulled out his scissors and snipped it. He’d once tried to enchant some scissors to snip threads for him so he wouldn’t have to stop whatever he was working on to do it. At the best of times it left too long a thread so he’d end up just having to do it again, at the worst of times magic scissors flew at his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck the pins in his voodoo doll pin cushion and examined his handiwork. The jacket hung off Howard’s shoulders perfectly, making him look broad and strong. The trousers emphasized those northern pins that Howard was so proud of. They hugged Howard’s pumpkin arse perfectly and, oh dear, he’d made Howard look too sexy. All the church ladies were gonna be flinging themselves at him. Well if any of them tried it on he’d stab em up and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was staring at him. His gaze lingering on a very sensitive area. He looked hungry and a bit dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You all right little man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince snapped out of it and went bright red again. “Wot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See somethin’ you like sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just admirin’ my genius. Take a look.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard climbed off the chair, using Vince’s head as a support so he didn’t fall over, this earned an indignant squawk and a “D’you mind??!” from Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we ready?” Howard asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Gotta go fix my hair now, thanks to you. I’ll be revokin’ your hair touchin’ privileges if you don’t watch your step.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard waggled his hands, he was very scared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Vince fixed his hair in their room, Howard checked out the fit of the suit in one of Vince’s many emergency mirrors. Howard didn’t actively avoid his reflection, but he didn’t spend a lot of time with it either. Vince’s reflection was an old friend, but Howard’s was more of a casual acquaintance. But for once he was pleased with what he saw in the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught a flash of yellow in the corner of the room. Vince’s old walkman. Howard wondered how he had managed to keep it running all these years. He walked over, wondering what Vince was listening to. He popped open the player, expecting to see Gary Numan or Bowie, possibly the Ramones. What he did not expect was the Howard Moon mixtape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All those years ago he’d only managed to record the A-side before being interrupted by his father. So the B-side was blank. He still remembered what songs he’d meant to put on. Perhaps he still could. He had his vinyl (even of a few of Vince’s old favorites he’d picked up at record shops over the years for...no particular reason) and his tape recorder still packed away in the back of the van. After the funeral he’d pick up the van and he would record the B-side for Vince as a surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince  came back out to the main room. “Ready?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard quickly stuffed the tape in his pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A couple blocks from the church, Vince dropped Howard’s hand. A couple mourners were climbing out of their car, and there were even more gathered in front of the church. In small towns, weddings and funerals were the only place people could catch up. So they all gathered in loose constantly reconfiguring clumps, chatting. He didn’t think it was a good idea for Howard to be seen walking hand in hand with the witch of the woods to his own father’s funeral. This would be easier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Howard firmly grabbed Vince’s hand again. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it. Howard stalked past the various mourners, making a beeline for the church doors that were standing open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they just made it to the family area. Then they could be sequestered. Perhaps they could go the entire funeral without speaking to anyone and then sneak out the side door and avoid the reception altogether. They just had to make it into the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were partway up the stone steps when Bainbridge and Joey emerged from the church and blocked their way. Not in an obvious way though. Menacing in its nonchalance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now old boy that simply won’t do,” Bainbridge said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get out of our way Bainbridge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moon. I would love to, but we have a bit of an issue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. Work it out amongst yourselves.” Howard tried to get past them but then the blockade became significantly less nonchalant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard backed off, waiting to see what they would do next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a church. You are not bringing that witch in here. You might not respect your father’s memory, but I certainly do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shrank behind Howard. The way he only seemed to do when Bainbridge was in the vicinity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d known something like this was going to happen. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>known. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But like an idiot he’d proceeded anyway. He was so desperate to be there for Howard that he’d ignored how terrifically bad of an idea it was for him to be here. How dangerous it could be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince knew his options well. Cause a scene or leave. Those were always his options. Whenever he went where he was not wanted. Cause a scene or leave. Fight or flight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no good options. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t cause a scene here. It would prove to everyone that their worst instincts about him were correct. And it wasn’t right. And it wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t the place to make a stand. He couldn’t bear it. Not here. Not when he was supposed to be taking care of Howard. And he wanted to take care of Howard. He really did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he also wanted to leave. That was the truth of the matter. He’d thought he would be able to do it. Walk into the church. Ignore the stares and the whispering. Not worry about whether Bainbridge and the rest would be waiting behind the church to teach him a lesson for daring to enter. Just focus on Howard. But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Bainbridge was looking at him. All the talk from the birds. Things were coming to a head. And he was scared. He hated it. Didn’t want it to be true. But it was. He was scared to set foot in that church. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s right Howard,” he said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The witch sees sense,” Bainbridge said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Howard hissed at him. He turned back to Vince. “You don’t need to go. I don’t want you to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard again tried to bull past Bainbridge but Bainbridge and Joey held firm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get out of our way,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be reasonable Moon, do you really think your father would have wanted that,” he pointed at Vince, “at his funeral?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t give a toss what he would have wanted” Howard said, growing angry, his voice rising. “He’s coming in with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed for Vince but Vince pulled back from him and crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t go in there. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard looked around and saw that people were staring. Starting to gather round. But their attention was not focused on him, though he was the one raising his voice. They were all staring at  Vince. He looked from the crowd, to Bainbridge looking every bit the smug righteous defender of morality, to Vince looking so uncomfortable in his men’s clothes, completely without his beautiful armor, back to the crowd, all ready to pounce on the witch if he didn’t fall into line. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He, for the first time, felt that he understood what Vince went through on a day to day basis. No matter what Vince did, it was never enough. They didn’t even see the effort. To tone it down. To blend in. To just appear normal. Never again would he feel that small nasty little twinge of annoyance at Vince for refusing to fit in. For always taking a stand. Always wanting to fight. He finally understood how painful it must have been for Vince today, to dull his shine to make the people around him more comfortable and it still wasn’t enough. And it never would be. But he’d tried. For Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they didn’t want Vince, then they didn’t want him either. “Fine. We’ll both go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shook his head. “You have to go, Howard. You’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s alright. I’ll meet you at home yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince attempted a smile, but it was not very convincing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wanted him to stay. Maybe even needed him to stay, but he let him go anyway. Because for him the crowd meant small talk, unwanted hugs, and anxiety. For Vince it could very well mean physical harm. Howard’s abuser was dead. Vince’s was very much alive and had him surrounded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Howard leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Vince’s temple. “I’ll see you at home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard watched him descend the stairs, walk back down the street and disappear around the corner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Howard turned back around he had to resist the urge to punch the smug look right off Bainbridge’s face. He shouldered past Bainbridge and entered the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was immediately accosted by elderly women wishing to give their condolences. All landing on him like a crashing wave now that he no longer had Vince to act as a bulwark. He thanked them with a working facsimile of graciousness and was able to get past them to the family area where he was blissfully alone. He sat there, reading the hymnal, until it was time for the service to begin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>6 men, a couple of whom Howard recognized from the pub, carried Howard’s father’s coffin down the aisle and up to the front of the sanctuary, as some solemn organ music played. Howard had never been to a funeral before, but it was kicking off just the way films had always led him to believe it would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was some praying, some more singing, more praying, the priest spoke, then more praying, then the priest said “at the request of the family we now invite anyone who knew John Moon to speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no gasp of horror at Howard’s failure to deliver a eulogy. A hole didn’t open up and swallow him. No one even threw him a sideways glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the men John had served with spoke of their time in the military. One of his drinking buddies told a “hilarious” story about a night out that made all of the men roar and all the church ladies scowl into their bibles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Dixon Bainbridge stood up and walked to the front. He stood behind the pulpit and began to speak, not even sparing Howard a glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John Moon was one of the best men I ever knew. He was a hard worker. A sportsman of the highest caliber. And a friend of the finest order.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard knew he should be furious. But the way Bainbridge was, to use Vince’s term, “blowing sunshine up the arses” of the mourners, was too funny to take seriously.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John Moon worked at my family’s factory for more than 30 years. His work, like the work of all you good folks, is what has allowed this factory to remain prosperous all these years.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christ.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His kindness-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard snorted at that. A few mourners whipped their heads in his direction and he covered his eyes. Their gazes softened, poor old sod, they thought, so broken up he couldn’t even speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His kindness was beyond compare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s shoulders shook up and down with silent laughter. He couldn’t control it. If Vince were here he’d be laughing as well. It was just all so ridiculous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His dedication to upholding the morals of this community-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A murmur rippled through the church as John Moon’s boy seemed overcome with emotion. He stumbled out of the sanctuary and into the side hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge finished off his little eulogy rather lamely, as his intended audience was no longer present, then sat down. A few minutes later Howard came back into the sanctuary looking a lot more calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was free of the bastard. He almost felt he should thank Bainbridge. Without that preposterous eulogy he might have brooded over his father’s death for years. Regretting their final conversation. But he was finally free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He intended to make great use of his newfound freedom from the crushing expectations of his father and the town by sneaking out the back and going home to Vince, but his plans were thwarted when he entered the stinking alleyway behind the church and out of a shadow emerged Birdy Lewis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to escape, pet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Howard knew exactly what was happening he was being ushered into the meeting hall attached to the church where people were already serving themselves food and bright red punch from a gallon jug pulled from the ancient refrigerator in the back. Men talked and slapped each other’s backs, women bounced crying babies and stopped small children from smearing cake all down the front of their nice church clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge held court in the corner. Which was just fine by Howard, made it easy to keep track of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince got out of the awful funeral clothes as soon as he got home. He knew on a basic level that the clothes looked fine. Nice even. But he did not like the mental image of looking so painfully dull. So average. And he didn’t like that Howard had that mental image either. Of course Howard had seen him without makeup and soaking wet and all the rest, but somehow that felt very different from Howard seeing him looking like such a bloke. So he would erase it from both their minds quick smart with his favorite sparkly gold boots and his best Stevie Nicks shawl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt awful, leaving Howard to face all those people alone, but he would make it up to him somehow. He could feel the lascivious grin curling across his face as he thought of just what that somehow might be. With the assistance of his carnal fantasies about Howard and his sparkly boots he already felt his mood improving ten fold. He’d fix up his hair and by the time Howard came home he’d be operating at full Vince-ness again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put on a record, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sticky Fingers, </span>
  </em>
  <span>grabbed his hairspray and brush, and started setting his hair back to rights, bobbing along with the bluesy bounce of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brown Sugar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He pouted at himself in the mirror, doing his best Mick. Tragically he just didn’t have the lips for it. And his attempt to remedy that with magic when he was 14 had been both disastrous and embarrassing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted some of his hair, ready to spray it, when he saw that his roots were starting to show. Just the tiniest bit. He hated his natural color. And hadn’t seen more than a quarter inch of it since he was 12. He’d dyed it a veritable rainbow over the years, but in the end he always came back to black. Maybe eventually everyone who knew his natural color would forget it or die, then the illusion would be complete.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to touch up his roots, but they weren’t too noticeable at the moment. He’d been working on hair dye that would automatically touch up your roots as they grew, but it was quite a bit more complicated than he’d originally anticipated. When he’d tested a particularly promising iteration of the spell on himself his  hair had turned purple and whenever he tried to dye it back to black the dye just all washed out and it was straight back to purple. He’d made it work of course and he’d rather liked having purple hair, but he’d been quite worried that it would be permanent and he’d never be able to change it again, no matter what the hair muse said. But eventually it wore off and he was a bit more hesitant to try his experiments on himself, and he couldn’t bear to try them on Mr. Rabbit. The poor old thing was at least 40 years old and barely knew what was going on as it was. He wasn’t going to dye him purple as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music was loud, so he didn’t hear the birds pecking at the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had thought about getting his number unlisted. But something always stopped him. His father’s sneering voice in the back of his head. “Can’t handle a bit a guff from the old man can ye boy? I hurt yer feelin’s did I boy?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t know why he kept letting it happen. The moment he picked up the line and heard “Alright Teej?”, he should have just hung up, but he never did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’d natter for a bit. Inconsequential things. His father never asked him about his life. He’d mostly just talk about sport. As a child his father had drilled the fundamentals of various sports into Howard’s head so he had the basic gist of whatever his father was talking about and he was always a bit secretly pleased when his father’s teams were doing poorly. Of course eventually John would ask “How’s yer mum?” Then would not wait for a response before launching into a diatribe about how she had ruined his life. It would at this point become painfully obvious he was drunk. Before this point it was obvious, just not painful. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard would do his best to steer the conversation away from his mother and back to a more neutral topic. But the neutral topics would quickly run out and of course his father had continued drinking the entire conversation and the pauses where he halted the conversation to take a drink would get longer and longer, and the conversation would turn to how he’d done what he’d had to do and how he’d only tried to make Howard a man and how his bitch of a mother had turned him into a faggot, and Howard so dearly wished he was ruder, which really meant he wished he was braver, so he could hang up on him. Cut his father off. Completely. Totally. But no. He would simply sit on the bed, his elbow propped on his leg, his hand shading his eyes as if his father was in the room and he was trying to hide from his gaze, murmuring “um-hm, yeah, no you’re right, yeah, right right, yeah” in all the right places. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father seemed to have a gift of sensing the perfect time to strike. His best trick was marring otherwise lovely days. See a novice might find a time when things weren’t going well, when Howard was feeling weak and depressed, and then pile on. But his father, through telepathy, prophetic vision, or lucky chance, always managed to catch Howard when he was having a good day. He called when Howard was feeling especially good. Feeling maybe a bit more confident. When one of his students did something that just shocked and amazed him. And he was musing maybe he’d pull out his trumpet, riff a little, maybe play along with one of his records. Just for fun. Looking forward to getting home. When being alone felt like a blessing instead of a curse. That was when his father would call. He erased all of the goodness of the day from Howard’s memory. Howard’s happiness was always so brief and easily overshadowed that he’d started to believe that he never had any good days at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been eight years since the disastrous summer spent in the little village of Beron. Eight years since he’d seen his father or…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father was always very careful not to mention Vince. Not even in passing. Not even to call him names. He seemed to think that the “love spell” would come back with a vengeance if Howard was reminded of Vince’s existence. As if he could forget. As if Vince didn’t hang over his every thought. His every action.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wondered if Vince had moved on. Whether he’d found someone else. In his head he would insist that he hoped Vince did find someone, because Vince deserved to be happy. More than any other person on this piece of shit rock they called earth, Vince deserved to be happy. But his head and his heart were rarely in agreement and so in his heart he couldn’t bear the thought of Vince loving someone else. And his head knew it was selfish and cruel. But his heart didn’t care. “The heart wants what the heart wants” was actually quite a brutal phrase. It excused all manner of atrocity. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d even considered calling Birdy Lewis, whom Vince had seemed to have an antagonistic affection for, to see if she could tell him anything. But, as it often did, his courage failed him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed his father making history. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His father slurred, “saw th’ little poof today. Wiggle walkin’ down th’ street. Wan’ ta have a go, put tha’ little queer in hissss place.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard sat up straight. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Usually it knows if it sees me a comin’ ‘e better go the other way.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard was seventeen years old and back in the passenger seat of his father’s car. All manner of vile things pouring from his father’s lips in a dark mutter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Little shit is forgettin’ what happens, e’s forgettin’ what happens. Turn my boy into a fairy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he wasn’t in his father’s car anymore. He wasn’t in his home. Wasn’t in his reach. He couldn’t fix his past. And he was fairly certain his future would be a shambles. But maybe he could sleep a bit better that night. He’d never stood up for Vince when it counted but he could do it now. Meaningless as it was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know he didn’t do anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wha’?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You always knew. You knew he didn’t give me a love potion.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shuddup.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He didn’t do anything wrong. His only mistake was caring about me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You fookin’ liah’.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No dad. That’s the truth. He cared about me. And I cared about him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You better shut your mouth boy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You just couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t accept that John Moon’s boy is-” Howard took a deep shuddery breath, “That I’m... gay.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The release, after all these years, was incredible. He wound up a large speech about how he was a massive gayist. Lived in a gaydom. Which was a kingdom of gay. How he loved men. Well. One man. That his father had taken away his one chance at happiness and he was an old bastard. But none of that was necessary. His father had already hung up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They never spoke again. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>5.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the church ladies stuffed him with any more food he was certain he was going to end up puking in one of their handbags. At least then they would allow him to go home. It was difficult to determine how much time had passed. It felt like an eternity to him but that left open the possibility that it had only been five minutes. Howard darted a glance around. Looking for escape. Or at least a clock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he noticed Bainbridge was gone. Howard craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him. But he was nowhere to be found. Joey was gone too. Corky and Fossil as well. Jean Claude was still there, but he seemed to be the only member of the little coterie that was still accounted for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shot to his feet in a panic. Where were they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat in front of his vanity, putting on eyeshadow. He thought Howard might appreciate a smokey eye. Once he knew what it was. He was just about to change into something very sexy (wardrobe change 3 of the day for those keeping track at home) when he heard the window in the front room shatter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran out into the living room to find that it was on fire. And spreading quick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Due to the amount of time he spent mucking about with magical fire, Vince had a multitude of magical fire extinguishers, so he ran into the kitchen area and grabbed one, but the fire was spreading quickly. He pointed the extinguisher toward the flames, but then there was another crash behind him and a flaming bottle flew through the kitchen window. And he heard a few other crashes in other parts of the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran into his room and found it was almost entirely engulfed in flames. All of his art. His dress form. His makeup. And worst of all his clothes. All roiling with flames. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire was already blazing out of control. No time to save any of his things. He heard shrieking and chittering outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The birds! His lovelies. All of the mice and squirrels and chinchillas in the hutches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince ran outside and to the side of the house. He threw open all of the little cages that contained the rodents, then ran to the other side of the house and threw open the coops, setting all the birds free. A few, those closest to the flames and with more delicate constitutions, laid dead in their cages. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Busy with the animals, he didn’t see a pickup truck with several people in the back speed away, bouncing and trouncing over the uneven lane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cottage was beyond saving. Black smoke belched into the bright afternoon sky. The stones collapsed as the wooden beams holding the roof burned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The remaining birds and animals swirled around him, the lizards and snakes and chipmunks and doves, they were all talking at once. Asking him what was going on. Where was Duncan, where was Mr. Rabbit, where was Mumu, and Antony Daggs, and Jeremy, and Tex? It was absolute chaos. They were begging him for answers. Pawing and pecking at his hair and his clothes and his legs all trying to get his attention. He could barely see. And all their little voices were filling his head and he couldn’t focus and his house was burning down and and and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“SHUT UP!” He screamed. And all the animals went quiet.  The entire forest went quiet. For Vince the entire world went quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stalked around the house, a long line of animals silently trailing after him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are ya?” He yelled. Trying to find the person who’d burnt down his home. As if he didn’t know. He stalked around the entire perimeter of the cottage, but there was no one to be found. Whoever it was, they’d left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Angry tears cut angry tracks down his smokestained face. They’d killed his friends. He knew who was missing. It had never taken him more than a glance to determine who had been sacrificed to a spell. Once Bryan was gone Vince asked the animals for what they would willingly give, lopped lizard tales, feathers, loose teeth, patches of fur. He never worked any spells that required a sacrifice. He’d worked so hard to keep them safe. He looked all over. Trying to get a headcount. Morrison and Manznerek the lizards were gone. Rumors they’d been sunning themselves in the window the first bottle crashed through. Mr. Rabbit (who had kindly provided a satisfying answer to Vince’s inquiry about where he went when magician’s made him disappear, making a sad little boy smile for the first time since his parents abandoned him) was nowhere to be found. The animals all agreed not to tell Vince what had happened to Jeremy. He’d been waiting in a cupboard so he could spring out and spook Vince the next time he opened it. He’d been trapped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat down hard on the ground. He covered his face with his hands like a child. A few birds landed on his shoulders, plucking at his hair comfortingly. Some chipmunks nestled into his lap. They snuggled in close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One night many years ago Vince’s parents had abandoned him on Bryan’s doorstep.  Without anything except the clothes on his back. They had no idea what his favorite toy was, so Jahooli the Leopard did not make the journey.  They didn’t know he still sometimes slept with the blankie his nanny told him his mum had crocheted for him before he was born because she was so excited to meet him. At the time Vince had thought that did not really sound like his mum but he’d been excited to have something so pretty all his own. They’d brought none of it. After that he became a magpie, forever attracted to anything shiny. Anything pretty. All his things. Burning up. The red dress he’d sewn for himself to feel better after Bryan died. The necklace he’d made when Elisha gave him one of her feathers. Bryan’s clothes. His boots. His boots. All of his beautiful boots. And the Mixtape. If Vince’ heart wasn’t already shattered into a million pieces over the loss of so many of his friends, then this surely would have done the trick. The sadness was giving way to something else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s lips pulled into a snarl. His pupils wide and black with fury. The grime from the fire throwing the angles of his bony face into razor sharp relief. This was the Vince who lived in the head of all those that feared him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rodents are finely attuned to danger, so they wisely vacated Vince's lap and narrowly avoided being accidentally dumped on the ground as Vince shot to his feet. The birds on his shoulders flapped rapidly to retain their perch. And they took flight when Vince marched up the lane toward town. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For years afterward the townsfolk would whisper about The Day the Witch Child Came To Town. The witch child, the witch of the woods, prowled the streets of Beron as the sun sank, his hair standing on end like electric static. The animals that followed him. They did not attack, merely bore silent witness to all that followed. All types of beast and bird. Not only pigeons and bunnies, but falcons and badgers and stags. One villager, prone to excitability, swore up and down he saw a wolf, though he was swiftly dismissed. But everyone agreed on the murder of crows soaring over the witch’s head as he stalked up the high street before turning abruptly onto the single street that constituted the nice part of town. Everyone in the village of Beron made it their business to remain inside until the next morning. Just to be safe. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12 and Second Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vince confronts Bainbridge, and Howard tries to find Vince.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p>
<p>Across town Howard ran back toward his father’s house to retrieve his van. He had to get to Vince. He prayed that he was being paranoid. That Bainbridge and the rest had simply fucked off to the Wayward Vicar to toast John Moon’s memory. But he knew it wasn’t true. </p>
<p>The streets were completely empty. Usually by this time the little town would be buzzing with life, but there was no one around. Not a single other soul. Eerily quiet.</p>
<p>When he reached the van he pulled his keys out of his pocket and dropped them three times while trying to unlock the door because his hands were shaking so badly. He finally managed to get the door open and almost cried when he dropped the keys again on the floorboard, right between his feet. He felt around for them, found them, and started the van. He flipped a u-turn in the middle of the street and took off back toward the cottage, leaving burnt rubber in his wake. </p>
<p>He van shuddered and groaned as Howard pushed it to go faster and faster on the bumpy unpaved lane that led to the cottage. Every once in a while he would hit a bump so large that the whole van lurched sickeningly and Howard banged his head on the ceiling. He knew he was pushing it, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. </p>
<p>Then he reached the cottage. What was left of the cottage. Howard almost jumped out of the van without putting it in park, it was only when it kept rolling while one of his feet touched the ground that he threw the car into park, then he bailed out of the vehicle. </p>
<p>The cottage was a smoldering wreck. The only thing still standing was the sign. Spells and Potions. No Love Spells.</p>
<p>Vince was nowhere to be seen. </p>
<p>“Vince. VINCE!”</p>
<p>No answer. </p>
<p>“VINCE!”</p>
<p>No answer. </p>
<p>Howard circled the perimeter of the cottage, he couldn’t take his eyes off the wreckage so he kept tripping over his own feet as he moved in a strange sidelong gait. He knew what he was looking for, but if he articulated it, even just in his own mind, he’d be sick. If he found it, he’d start screaming and he didn’t think he’d ever stop. </p>
<p>Once Howard completed his circuit he did not feel relieved. It proved nothing. But if he was going to continue to function he had to believe Vince hadn’t been in the house. That he’d gotten out. That there was still something to be done. </p>
<p>He jumped when some wood shifted in the wreckage. A panicky voice shrieked in his mind that it was Vince. But it wasn’t. Instead a small bunny jumped out of the wreckage. Seemingly unharmed. It had strange markings that seemed very familiar. The rabbit was half white half black, perfectly split down the middle. Mr. Rabbit. </p>
<p>Howard shuffled forward and picked the rabbit up. Vince had been right, Mr. Rabbit apparently was immortal. He scratched between the rabbit’s ears. It seemed Mr. Rabbit was the only animal left in the entire forest. Where had they all gone? Maybe they’d followed Vince.</p>
<p>His body wasn’t used to hope so at first it tried to reject it like a bad organ transplant, but Howard’s brain grimly got the rest of his body in line. It was all they had. </p>
<p>He carefully set Mr. Rabbit on the passenger seat of the van, climbed in and drove back to town. He was sure he still remembered how to get to Bainbridge’s house. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Bainbridge’s door was unlocked. Vince threw it open without considering the implications of an unlocked door. The birds circled the house in a menacing cyclone. </p>
<p>Vince marched down the hallway and turned into the family room. No Bainbridge. He wasn’t in the kitchen either. Vince paused briefly to arm himself with supplies from the kitchen. As far as potion ingredients went his selection was pretty poor, but it was better than nothing. And if things went pear shaped he would at least have a fighting chance. </p>
<p>He mixed flour, basil, and lemon juice in a ceramic bowl, then murmured an incantation over it, with a little puff of smoke the fire paste was ready, he scooped some of the paste into his hand and held it there. Ready to chuck it at someone if they came at him. </p>
<p>He stalked through the rest of the house, room by room, but Bainbridge was nowhere to be found. The only room left was the large formal dining room. He gently toed the door open. Bainbridge sat at the other end of the long table. </p>
<p>Once Vince caught sight of Bainbridge’s steepled hands and smug face all thought drained out of his head, replaced with burning white iron rage. He ran forward, intent on smearing the fire paste all over Bainbidge’s face. He’d burn that smug right off. </p>
<p>Before he could even get within 10 feet of Bainbridge, Joey and Fossil sprung out from both sides of the doors where they’d been standing just out of view, rushed forward and grabbed him, forcing him to drop the bowl of fire paste. </p>
<p>Vince grabbed at Joey’s wrist, smearing some of the paste on his arm. Joey dropped to his knees, howling as the paste blistered his skin. Vince planted his hand in the middle of Fossil’s chest. The paste smoked as it burned through Fossil’s shirt. </p>
<p>“Holy mother of Christ!” Fossil shrieked. “My tits!” He whipped off the shirt and there was a red handprint on his skin where Vince had touched him. </p>
<p>Joey managed to get the paste off his arm, and he grabbed Vince’s wrists. Holding him so Vince couldn’t get at anyone with his paste coated hands. </p>
<p>“Fossil, wipe that shit off his hands,” Joey barked, jerking his head toward a cloth napkin on the table.</p>
<p>Fossil grabbed the napkin and approached Vince. Vince swung his arm as hard as possible, managing to break free of Joey. Fossil jumped backward with a shriek.  Vince tried to hit Joey in the face, but Joey managed to catch hold of him again. </p>
<p>Bainbridge watched this entire exchange impassively. </p>
<p>Fossil approached Vince with more trepidation, cringing away every time Vince tried to get free. He cleaned the paste off of Vince’s right hand. Vince kicked at him, but it didn’t stop him. When he was done he threw the napkin on the floor and grabbed another to repeat the process on Vince’s left hand.</p>
<p>Once Vince’s hands were no longer a source of danger, Joey shifted so he held Vince’s shoulders and Fossil held his feet. They picked him up and carried him back toward the chair across the long table from Bainbridge. </p>
<p>Joey held him down in the chair while Fossil tied his feet. </p>
<p>For the first time Vince noticed the pink bottle sitting next to Bainbridge’s hands. It looked like an old fashioned fizzy pop bottle, and the label said-</p>
<p>A terrified moan tumbled from Vince’s lips. </p>
<p>Love Potion No. 9</p>
<p>Bainbridge noted the fear in Vince’s eyes and smiled. </p>
<p>Vince kicked at Fossil as he tied his legs. He thrashed, trying to get free of Joey’s grip. Once Fossil was nearly done with his legs it became very clear Vince wasn’t going to get away. He had to act while his hands were still free. Otherwise he’d be truly buggered. </p>
<p>He murmured the incantation to himself, each word progressively quieter than the last, if he misspoke and his voice got louder he would have to start the incantation over. He had to focus. </p>
<p>He twisted his fingers in a complicated pattern in front of his face.</p>
<p>“What’s he doing?” Bainbridge said.</p>
<p>Vince kept murmuring the words, quieter and quieter, he drew his thumb over his moving lips, tracing their shape then drawing a line downward. </p>
<p>“Stop him!”</p>
<p>Joey grabbed at Vince’s hands but Vince grimly continued, not missing a beat with his words, doing the gestures as best he could, periodically wrenching his hands out of Joey’s. </p>
<p>Bainbridge shot to his feet, ready to duck if Vince was conjuring some sort of fireball.</p>
<p>Finally, Vince reached the end of the spell. He mouthed the last word then he  pressed his index finger to his lips in a silent shushing gesture. </p>
<p>His jaw snapped shut so hard his teeth clicked painfully. </p>
<p>As long as he didn’t speak, the spell would remain in effect. No one could open his mouth. They couldn’t pry it open. Couldn’t cut it. Not unless he spoke. It had been invented by a witch as a temporary stopgap to prevent poisoning, but was popularized by witch couriers who, if beset upon, would place the messages in their mouths and then lock it shut, protecting the sensitive information. </p>
<p>Joey wrapped his arms around Vince’s torso, pinning his arms to the side, but he barely need have bothered, Vince no longer resisted and Fossil was able to easily tie his arms down. </p>
<p>Vince had vastly improved the length of time he could maintain his silence, and thus the spell. As a teenager he’d barely lasted 11 minutes, but as an adult he’d made it all the way to 18. </p>
<p>“What did you do?” Bainbridge asked. </p>
<p>Vince stared at him.</p>
<p>Bainbridge, Joey, and Fossil all glanced up at the ceiling as if they expected it to come crashing down on them. When it seemed clear that it wasn’t going to, they relaxed. Bainbridge sat down. Joey and Fossil withdrew to either side of the double doors. </p>
<p>“Glad you got my message. ”</p>
<p>Bainbridge paused, expecting some sort of retort from Vince. None came.</p>
<p>“Not talking ay? Having a bit of a sulk hm?”</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>“It’s a bit childish. Though you do look so adorable when you pout. Always have.”</p>
<p>Bainbridge watched Vince’s face and saw that Vince sorely wanted to speak. But he didn’t. </p>
<p>Bainbridge settled back in his chair. “Well. I know you. I know this silent treatment won’t last long. </p>
<p>The horrible thing was that Bainbridge was right. He was so angry he’d already almost spoken. But for once his fear had functioned the way it was supposed to and he managed to stay silent. It occured to Vince that 18 minutes was actually not all that long. </p>
<p>“I suppose you’re wondering what this is all about.”</p>
<p>Bainbridge was actually going to villain monologue to him. If Vince hadn’t been scared out of his wits he might have laughed. Almost did anyway, which would have been disastrous.</p>
<p>“Well Vince, as I’m sure you’re quite aware, I have always been fascinated by you. Pieces of your story. Never quite added up. So I did a bit of looking around. Bit of searching. Did you know that the very day you arrived in our little hamlet the grandson of a french aristocrat and some new money nobody’s went missing? Didn’t garner much interest here, but in France the public really went wild for it. Every year the tabloids all run an anniversary retrospective on the little chap’s birthday. Which was also the day he went missing. Isn’t that fascinating?”</p>
<p>Bainbridge watched in satisfaction as Vince tried and failed to keep the fear from creeping across his face. </p>
<p>“And what day is the kid’s birthday? Why the same day you came to our little village. Your birthday. Quite the coincidence no?”</p>
<p>It was so much worse than Vince had imagined. When the birds had warned him. When Howard had warned him. He had not seen this. He’d made a horrible mistake. He wondered if it might be his last mistake. </p>
<p>“So every year they run an issue with the headline ‘Where is Vince Violette?’”</p>
<p>Vince couldn’t breathe. A cold fist wrapped around his heart, squeezing all out of rhythm. He hadn’t heard his real name in over 30 years. Didn’t really even consider it his real name anymore. He was Vince Noir. Not Vince Violette. </p>
<p>“His grandparents have been looking and looking for their boy. All these years, and they’ve never lost hope. Isn’t that beautiful?”</p>
<p>Vince couldn’t help trembling.</p>
<p>“They even offer a reward for anyone who has information about his whereabouts.”</p>
<p>Vince knew that wasn’t it. Bainbridge wasn’t just going to turn him over to his grandparents. That didn’t account for the bottle.</p>
<p>“A bit of their money is a nice reward. But you know what’s better than some of their money?”</p>
<p>Bainbridge propped the side of his head up on one  fist and with the other reached out to toy with the top of the bottle, drawing circles with his finger around the cap.</p>
<p>“All of it.”</p>
<p>Bainbridge was in way over his head. He did not know what kind of people Vince’s grandparents were. </p>
<p>Bainbridge popped open the bottle of Love Potion No. 9, it fizzed up as he removed the cap. </p>
<p>“When I finally meet your grandparents it will be as your fiance. I think we can have a rather nice life together, don’t you? Living in one of the finest houses in France. All that money from your freak mother’s side. It will be perfect.” </p>
<p>Vince almost screamed at Bainbridge that he would never ever ever drink that love potion. That he’d rather die. But he managed to keep himself under control. Barely. It scared him how close he was to losing control. </p>
<p>Bainbridge snapped and Fossil lunged forward. He grabbed two champagne glasses from the sideboard and walked them over to Bainbridge. </p>
<p>Bainbridge poured half of the pink potion into each glass. He picked up both glasses and brought them over to where Vince was tied up. </p>
<p>Bainbridge drank his potion then held the other glass to Vince’s lips. “Bottoms up darling.”</p>
<p>Vince didn’t part his lips.</p>
<p>Bainbridge shook his head as if he was a disappointed schoolteacher. He snapped and Joey grabbed the back of Vince’s head and his chin, trying to pull his mouth open. He couldn’t. He shifted his grip. Trying to stick his fingers between Vince’s lips. He couldn’t even do that. </p>
<p>Bainbridge sat the champagne glass down on the table with a rattle. He grabbed Vince’s face. Trying to pry his mouth open. It hurt, but that didn’t matter. </p>
<p>“You little bitch,” he hissed in Vince’s face. He slapped Vince. </p>
<p>Vince didn’t make a sound. </p>
<p>Bainbridge glared at him through slitted eyes. “Fine. You want to play games. That’s just fine.”</p>
<p>He pushed Joey out of the way and placed his hand over Vince’s nose. Choking off his air supply. Vince tried to jerk away but he had no leverage or power. </p>
<p>“Just open your mouth.”</p>
<p>Vince didn’t make a sound. </p>
<p>After a minute Vince fought with renewed vigor. After a minute and a half his thrashing grew a panicked edge. </p>
<p>After two minutes he whipped his head back and forth, desperately trying to get free but Bainbridge just tightened his grip. Vince still managed to remain silent. </p>
<p>At two and a half minutes, Vince’s movements grew erratic, no longer fighting to get free, just twitching and jerking in panic. </p>
<p>At three minutes Joey and Fossil shuffled nervously as Vince’s skin took on a decidedly blue tinge. Vince’s big blue eyes drifted closed. And they didn’t open again.</p>
<p>
  <b>Second Interlude</b>
</p>
<p>ONCE UPON A TIME…</p>
<p>There were two great families. One rich. The other old. Each had a terrible secret. That they would do anything to keep. </p>
<p>The lovely Fawn, who loved to spend all day with the animals, who could charm the bees of their honey and who made sure no mouse ever went hungry in her parent’s home, had told her parents in unequivocal terms that she would take no husband. That she found the prospect disgusting. Nor, she further stated, would she take a wife if one was offered. She intended to spend her limited time on earth with her animal friends. She would bear them no heir.  </p>
<p>Handsome dashing Rene, who found the most beautiful melancholy in Monet’s brush strokes, had been indiscreet. And thus his parents were informed that he was unlikely to ever take a wife as he was only interested in men. </p>
<p>Something had to be done. </p>
<p>Something was done.</p>
<p>And for a time all was well. Fawn and Rene were fiercely in love. Spent every moment together. Walking through the garden. Rene not stopping to look at the rare antique roses; Fawn nearly stepping on a chipmunk who’d been trying to get her attention. Only seeing each other. </p>
<p>They married a week after Fawn’s 19th birthday. Rene was nearly 20. They’d known each other 6 weeks. </p>
<p>The family, for they were one family now, had been warned. There would be no heir. Otherwise horrible consequences would follow.</p>
<p>Fawn and Rene were not warned. </p>
<p>When the child was born their passionate love turned to hate. They could barely spare a look for their child but they martialled their servants like personal armies. Planning petty tortures and plotting larger indignities. </p>
<p>Each was as obsessed with the other as they had been when they were in love. Fawn returned to the fields but found that she couldn’t understand her animal friends anymore. Rene returned to his museums, but strokes of color genius that had moved him to tears now laid stagnant on the canvas. Their only interest was tormenting each other. </p>
<p>Once they had escaped their parents they took savage pleasure in the knowledge they would never have to see each other again. Except they did see each other. They couldn’t stop sabotaging each other’s lives. Due to the distance and lack of regular contact, their plots became more subtle and more cruel. </p>
<p>Rene finally had the chance to purchase his favorite Magritte. Until his account was put on hold by his “wife” at the worst possible moment. Every time Fawn put in an application to adopt a pet at an animal shelter she found out that someone else had adopted them just hours earlier. </p>
<p>They got together for a semiannual fight. It was never on purpose, but if they were ever within 200 miles of each other they would invariably find each other. They could fight for hours. Rene would ignore the velvet glimmer of the night sky; Fawn would ignore the hooting of an owl who hadn’t seen her in years and would love to catch up. </p>
<p>The twisting of the spell had not saved them, it had only made it more obvious what they’d lost. </p>
<p>Her every waking moment was focused on Rene. It wasn’t enough that she should thrive. He had to be miserable. Rene’s every thought was consumed by Fawn. So much so that he ended up killing every romance he had. </p>
<p>All was not well.</p>
<p>2.</p>
<p>Howard drove back toward town. Pushing his old van past its limits, ignoring the groaning of the engine. He was sure he should have been using the time to formulate a plan. Or at least take a stab at what might be awaiting him, but all he could think, in perfect sync with the blood rushing in his ears, was Vince Vince Vince Vince Vince Vince. </p>
<p>He pulled up in front of Bainbridge’s house, the bumper of the van nudged the fence surrounding the yard. He jumped out of the car and ran toward the front door. Only to find it was locked. He threw himself at the door several times, ignoring his smarting shoulder, and finally broke through. He stumbled into the home.</p>
<p>Everything looked different. But he supposed a family as wealthy as Bainbridge’s could afford to remodel every few years. He walked from room to room, moving as quietly as possible so as not to signal Bainbridge and his goons to his presence. </p>
<p>He’d searched the entire first floor and found nothing. He climbed the stairs to continue his search with the bedrooms, but right as he reached the second floor a middle aged woman came out of the toilet wearing nothing but a towel. </p>
<p>He tried to back down the stairs before she noticed him but he accidentally hit one of the pictures hanging over the stairs with his arse and the resulting rattle caused her to whip her head in his direction. It was in this moment, right before she started screaming, that Howard noted the pictures hanging over the stairs did not contain Bainbridge or Lucy or their parents. The pictures were of an entirely different family. Including the woman currently shrieking. When she wasn’t running away screaming she appeared to be the lovely mother of two young children and most likely not a relative of Bainbridge’s.</p>
<p>Howard turned around and ran out of the house before she called the police, throwing “sorry’s” over his shoulder as he moved.</p>
<p>He climbed back in the van but had no idea where to go next. He had no idea where Bainbridge lived if he’d moved, and no guarantee Vince would be there even if he was able to find it. </p>
<p>He rubbed his hands viciously over his face, then looked to the sky, perhaps looking to the heavens for assistance. It was then he saw the birds. Swirling in a black ominous cloud. </p>
<p>He started up the van and drove toward the birds.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When Vince awoke he found he was being carried, while still tied to the chair, through the woods, down the narrow little lane toward the lake. His head felt muddy and sluggish. The sun was finally starting to go down, bathing everything in golden light. He lolled his head from one side to the other. He was up so high. Corky, Joey, Fossil, and Bainbridge carried him like he was a jewish bride and they were lifting him for the horah. There was a rope looped over Joey’s shoulder and in Bainbridge’s hand was the remaining half of the love potion.  Vince did not like that at all. </p>
<p>He couldn’t ask them what they were doing. But he supposed he knew the answer anyway. </p>
<p>None of them spoke and the birds swirling above them were eerily silent, so the only sound was the men’s footsteps and the creak of the chair. He wished he could call out to the birds, ask them to help him, to save him, but he remained silent. It was all he could do. </p>
<p>Vince wondered where Howard was. Hoped he was alright. Hoped Bainbridge hadn’t managed to snatch him up as well.</p>
<p>Even Vince the eternal optimist did not see how he was going to get out of this fully intact. A cold sense of doom settled over him. It was not a familiar feeling. He could be sad. He could be angry and lonely and all the rest but even under the worst of circumstances he’d never felt doomed before. That required a level of foresight he just did not possess. But even he could see the writing on the wall now. Bright neon orange letters spelling out YOU ARE FUCKED.</p>
<p>He didn’t think he would die. Though it couldn’t be ruled out as a possibility. He knew what Banbridge wanted and his dying would not help him reach that goal. But things went wrong. And there was really only one reason they would have brought him all the way out here. He wondered how long he would last before the survival instinct kicked in and he spoke or more likely screamed, thus allowing himself to be fundamentally changed. It was this idea that kept circling around his head, that no matter what happened, he was going to be different after this. He’d fought so long and hard to be himself. To never compromise. And now he was nearly through. He dreaded who this new Vince might be. </p>
<p>They were nearly to the lake. The trees started to clear and he could smell the dank tremendousness of the place that was the site of the absolute greatest, and absolute worst, moments of his life. </p>
<p>The view, as they passed the trees and emerged near the shore, was breathtaking. Egg yellow sunlight dripped from every branch, the lake shimmered pink and blue, the pale disk of the moon made it’s spectral early entrance in the distance, rendering everything otherworldly and alien. He wondered if after...if he’d be able to appreciate it. </p>
<p>They made their way past the large rocks that dotted the shore toward the log that jutted out over the water. Fossil tripped over a half exposed tree root and they almost dropped Vince, but managed to catch the chair and right it before his face smacked into a giant rock. Vince squeezed his eyes shut but didn’t scream. </p>
<p>They set Vince and the chair down to re-situate themselves. The log narrowed the further out over the water it hung, but it was wide and sturdy enough slightly closer to shore to support a couple of the men, and Vince. And even though they weren’t very far out on the log, the water deepened quickly. </p>
<p>Bainbridge and Joey climbed out onto the log and once they were stable Corky and Fossil picked up the chair and very carefully handed Vince to Bainbridge and Joey. They set Vince, chair and all, down on the log. </p>
<p>Vince was sure the men must have spoken to each other, coordinating their movements, Bainbridge berating the others, but he hadn’t heard any of it. There was a loud ringing in his ears that he recognized as rising panic. He’d seen Howard’s panic attacks but he’d never experienced one himself. He did not care for the experience. </p>
<p>The rope dug into his wrists, rubbing them raw. He shifted just a bit in his seat and nearly tipped over into the lake. After that he remained very very still, clinging to the arms of the chair with white knuckles.</p>
<p>Joey held the chair steady while Bainbridge tied the rope to the back. </p>
<p>Vince’s eyes were widened with fear. He’d known. Of course he’s known. But this was the final confirmation.</p>
<p>Bainbridge smiled down at him. “What do you say beautiful? One last game of dunk the witch?”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Howard shrugged out of his suit jacket as he drove. Couldn’t afford to have his movements restricted. He glanced over at Mr. Rabbit, sitting in the passenger seat. “I’m gonna get him back. I promise.”</p>
<p> He followed the flight path of the birds until he reached the fork in the little lane where one path stayed wide and led back to the cottage and the other narrowed down to a path and led to the lake. He’d almost made a bloody circle, and wasted who knew how much time. There was a car already parked on  the side of the lane across from the path to the lake. He left the van parked next to it and ran up the path.</p>
<p>By the time he reached the lake he was completely out of breath. He had enough presence of mind not to just stumble out into full view, but just barely. He saw Bainbridge and Joey standing out on the log staring down at the water and Corky and Fossil stood by the base of the log. But he didn’t see Vince.</p>
<p>Then his eye caught the line of a rope hooked over one of the dead branches that led directly into the water and the bubbles erupting on the otherwise placid surface of the lake. </p>
<p>He bit back a scream and was therefore able to hear Bainbridge, in his odd booming voice, tell Joey to “haul him back up.”</p>
<p>And so Joey pulled the rope, and from shore Corky and Fossil pulled as well and slowly Vince rose out of the water. Tied to a chair. Looking like a drowned crow. His black hair hung in his face. He was slumped over, the ropes around his chest the only thing keeping him upright. </p>
<p>Again Howard had to resist the urge to scream, but he couldn’t help Vince if he was caught as well. He needed to bide his time.</p>
<p>Vince’s shoulders heaved as he took deep breaths, but he wasn’t opening his mouth. They hadn’t gagged him or anything and Howard couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t screaming, or swearing his tits off, or breathing through his mouth. It had to be painful to breath through his nose when he was sucking water into his nostrils. </p>
<p>They got the chair settled back on the log and Bainbridge bent at the waist, his hands resting on Vince’s arms, staring right into Vince’s eyes. He was speaking but it was quiet enough that Howard couldn’t make out what he was saying.</p>
<p>Vince didn’t respond. Then Bainbridge slapped him and the chair toppled over back into the water. </p>
<p>Bubbles floated to the surface and burst. He had to do something. Had to do something. They were killing him! </p>
<p>He searched in his immediate area, looking for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. To get an edge. He found a broken branch that was heavy and strong, yet light enough to carry. </p>
<p>Howard crept out from the treeline, trying to keep to the large rocks as much as possible, moving only when they were looking at the water. His urge to just abandon cover and rush them growing with every moment they left Vince in the water without hauling him up. </p>
<p>When Bainbridge gave the word they hauled him up again. Once Vince was safely on the log, Howard made his move. He sprung from his hiding place, a large rock  only a few feet away from Corky and Fossil. He surged forward and clobbered Fossil over the head with his branch. Fossil crumpled to the ground, howling. Then Howard drew back and caught Corky on the arm. He could tell it hurt, but it hadn’t done enough damage and he’d lost the element of surprise. He swung at Corky again, but this time Corky batted it out of the way. Scraping his hand but not much else. </p>
<p>Vince barely reacted to Howard’s arrival. He blinked slowly and, more disturbingly, unevenly. As if coordinated movement was beyond him at this point. </p>
<p>Bainbridge grabbed the back of Vince’s hair and jerked Vince’s head upright. He pressed his cheek to Vince’s and pointed at Howard. </p>
<p>“Look darling, your knight in shining armor.” He let go of Vince’s hair and Vince’s head dropped to his chest. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Bainbridge chuckled. “Go on now boys, get him.” Joey climbed off the log to assist Fossil and Corky. Vince was so tired. But he had to see what was happening. Had to see Howard. He struggled to keep his head up. He didn’t have the energy to shake his wet fringe out of his eyes. </p>
<p> Everytime they encroached, Howard jabbed at them with the branch and they were forced backward. But it wasn’t going to last. They were already coraling him. Vince had been in the middle of this particular maneuver enough times to recognize it. They’d have him caught in a matter of moments and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. </p>
<p>What an idiot he’d been. About everything ever. Every single bad thing that had ever happened to him was because he was such an idiot. Walking home alone in the dead of night. Only learning one bleeding defensive spell. Going off half cocked more times than he’d had hot meals. Never ever ever thinking things through. Now they had Howard. And they’d hurt him. And it was all Vince’s fault. </p>
<p>He couldn’t help it. His eyes filled up with tears then spilled over, rolling down his cheeks in milky black trails. </p>
<p>All he could do was watch as they surrounded Howard. When he tried to swing the branch, Joey rushed forward, took the brunt with his body, then ripped the branch away, throwing it out of Howard’s reach. Then he, Corky, and Fossil were on him in a flash. </p>
<p>Bainbridge clapped his hands in amusement. “Now this is fortuitous,” he said. He grabbed the back of Vince’s chair and rocked it, jolting Vince. </p>
<p>“Precious here was having trouble finding the proper motivation to cooperate but I think we’ve just found our stick.” </p>
<p>The men dragged Howard toward the water. Howard thrashed at them. Great swinging punches with plenty of power but very little accuracy. He kicked at them and when they tried to pick him up, he dug his feet in. Vince wanted to cheer Howard on. Show these bastards a thing or two. But of course he had to remain silent. </p>
<p>Howard managed to kick Corky to the ground, but then Corky grabbed hold of his leg and Joey pushed him and he timbered like a great northern pine. Then the three of them just dragged him and he had no chance. </p>
<p>They pulled Howard, screaming, into the water. </p>
<p>3.</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard got along pretty well with his dad. Though he was also very nervous around him. His dad was always trying to show him how to do stuff but then Howard would mess up and he’d get cross. It had been getting worse ever since he’d lost his job at the warehouse. He was almost always in a bad mood, even though he’d gotten another job.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard’s father had always drank a lot so Howard didn’t really notice the uptick in consumption, but his mother did, and it worried her. She hoped he’d be able to pull himself back up, but he seemed to resent her for not wanting to leave Leeds so he could return to that nasty little village he was from so he could work at the same factory his father and grandfather had worked in. Her entire family was in Leeds. She needed to be close to them. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She’d been glad when John had said he wanted to take Howard to the seaside for a day trip. He’d used to love spending time with Howard, and Howard absolutely worshipped him, forever trying to impress John, but over the last year their time together had dwindled to almost nothing. He’d always been a bit hard but these days he was much sharper with Howard than he needed to be and she knew that John had made Howard cry and then berated him for crying at least once. Howard and John were just different. Howard was sensitive. He liked music and books. John was a military man, an outdoorsman, a sportsman. Howard tried so hard to keep up but he just couldn’t. When she’d seen John yell at him for being such a “fuckin’ girl’s blouse” she’d pulled him aside and had some harsh whispered words and he’d seemed to come around. Come back to himself a bit. Then he’d suggested the day trip. And she’d been happy that John seemed to be making an effort. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard had been excited as well. He knew his dad had been mad at him about something and he hoped that the little trip was his dad’s way of saying he wasn’t mad anymore.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But when they’d arrived his dad seemed very agitated and snapped at him when he accidentally dropped their beach bag and the cap on the bottle of sunscreen broke and then wouldn’t close properly so they’d have to be extra careful so it didn’t spill all over everything in the bag and Howard knew if he messed up even one more time he was going to be in TROUBLE and there was nothing he hated more than being in TROUBLE, except maybe being dirty.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He’d laid  out his ratty red towel, faded to a bloody pink from years in the wash. Very careful not to get any sand on it. He dug around in the bag and found his book. A bit of the sunscreen had gotten on the cover, but it wiped away easily enough and he decided not to mention it.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He was about to lay down on the towel when his dad jerked his head toward the water and said “come on Teej.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad was the only one who called him Teej and he loved it. Made him feel like he and his dad were in a club. Though at the moment he was apprehensive because his father was gesturing toward the water and he could not go into the water.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad’s face had been pleasant enough, but Howard could see it brooked no argument. He moved very slowly, taking off his shirt at a snail’s pace.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Move it boy. You’re gonna learn how to swim.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard mumbled something inaudible.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What was that?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I know how to swim. Mum taught me.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t be a liar.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard wasn’t lying. His mother had taught him how to swim. Of course it had been in a pool so shallow he wouldn’t have been able to submerge his entire body even if he laid flat. But he’d learned. She knew how terrified he’d been of the water ever since he’d fallen into his neighbor’s koi pond when he was four. He’d nearly drowned and if anyone tried to get him near water that was deeper than two feet he started screaming.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad walked toward the water and when Howard didn’t follow he grabbed Howard roughly by the arm and dragged him toward the water. Howard stumbled along, trying to keep up. They kept heading for deeper and deeper water.  Howard followed along easily enough, not wanting to make his father cross, and hoping if he stayed calm his father would let it go sooner than if he cried and screamed. It was a  method he learned quickly but never truly mastered. Weakness was the greatest sin that could ever be committed by John Moon’s boy.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Then Howard found he couldn’t touch the bottom anymore. The reassuring feel of squelchy sand between his toes was gone. He tilted his head back and tried to back up, back to safety. He accidentally took a large gulp of sea water and gagged.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Dad,” he choked.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His father had held him, lifting him up a bit out of the water so he could get his bearings back, but also keeping him from heading back toward the shore.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard took a few deep breaths. It would be okay as long as his father held him up, but it was of course at that moment his father released him and the water was instantly over his head. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He got a mouth full of salty sea water and the thought of what might be in it made him gag and splutter as he flopped around, trying to stay close to the surface. His dad was saying something but he couldn’t make out what it was because he was too focused on not dying and every time he bobbed to the surface he would take a deep breath and sink back down and he was drowning and his dad was just standing there and now his dad was yelling but not for someone to help help help but yelling at him for not swimming and the world was narrowing to a pinhole and was he having a heart attack? Could ten year olds get heart attacks? Was he drowning and having a heart attack at the same time? And then he was screaming and crying and flailing. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad tried to grab him but Howard was fully panicking and accidentally whacked him in the nose with one flailing hand. Then his dad stopped pussyfooting around, wrapped his strong arms around Howard, pinning his arms to his sides, and dragged him back toward the shore.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> They stood in the shallows. Howard crying. Tiny waves swooshing over his calves and his father was yelling at him, telling him to “stop cryin’, stop fookin’ cryin’.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> A couple people stared, mostly children. Their parents took special care to look everywhere except for the big man screaming at the little boy. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard’s face was dripping with snot and drool and sand caked to his back  and his dad was still yelling. This of course made him cry even harder and he was feeling lightheaded and there was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away and- </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad slapped him.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard instantly stopped crying.  It shocked him so much it felt like his tears were rolling back up his cheeks and were being sucked back into his eyes. Before he’d barely been able to see or hear anything but now everything was in hyper focus. He could feel the very edge of a shell half buried in the sand under his foot. He could hear the crash of the waves and didn’t understand how anyone could find it relaxing. The sea water stung in his nose and he could feel grit on his tongue. And most of all the spot on his face where his dad had slapped him stung bright red. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad had never hit him before.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He realized he was holding his breath. Had honestly forgotten to breathe, such was his shock.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His cheek hurt and he still hadn’t taken a breath, not sure what would happen if he got any air in his lungs. He was terrified he’d start crying again. And his father was looking at him wearing an expression of disgust that Howard was already intimately familiar with, he’d seen it enough times when he’d failed at casting his line correctly while fishing, or cried when his father made him carry the dead bird he’d shot whilst hunting, or when Howard forgot to turn the kettle off, or didn’t close the door all the way.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His father walked away from him, shaking his head. Another sight that was very familiar. Once his father’s back was turned he found he was able to breathe again and he took in several gulping breaths before returning to normal. He followed his father back to their spot on the beach.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He heard his father murmuring darkly. “Ten years old and still scared of the fookin’ water.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard wrapped his towel tight around himself and tried not to shiver as cold drops of water dripped from his soaking hair and drifted down his back. The towel was still sunbaked warm from where he’d had it spread out so he could lie on top of it and read his book.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His father knelt down in front of him, taking him by the arms. Looking him in the eye. Which always made Howard very uncomfortable, but his dad believed a man should always look people in the eye and so he did his best to meet his dad’s gaze. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Teej. You need to toughen up. You can’t just go to pieces at the drop of a hat. I’m tryin’ to show you how to be a man. Do you see that?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard nodded, though his lower lip stuck out, which was a sure sign he was on the verge of crying.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Now I want you to go back out into the water.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Dad no!”  The words flew out of Howard’s mouth before he even knew they were forming. He wanted to pluck them all out of the air and stuff them back into his mouth. You did not say no to John Moon. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> His dad’s gaze went hard. His eyes almost slits. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Go out. You swim to that buoy and back and then we’ll go home. If you start blubberin’ like a big girl, or try to give up, you’ll do it again. We’ll stay here all day. Fuck, we’ll stay here all week if we ‘ave to. But you will swim. Do you hear me?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard nodded.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Go on then.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Howard trudged toward the water like it was a death sentence. He wanted to look back at his father but knew that would be a sign of weakness and would not be tolerated. So he waded ever deeper into the water. A wave slowly rolled toward him. It was taller than him and he had to bite down on his lips to keep from screaming. He turned back, desperately flailing, trying to swim away from it but it crashed over him and he was lost in the buffet of water and sand and he couldn’t tell which way was up, and finally he surfaced and he found that the wave had driven him all the way back to the shallows. The buoy looked further away than ever. And he couldn’t help it, he did look back at his dad, to see if his position had softened at all, whether he would let Howard come back, whether they could just go home. But his father just sat in the folding chair they’d brought, drinking a beer. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> So Howard started again, swimming out toward the buoy. He was driven backwards by the waves several times. But eventually he made it out and he let the waves carry him back. And he was so numb that he didn’t notice when his father smiled and clapped him on the back and said he was proud of him. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> After that, he convinced himself that his dad had cured him. Taken away his fear. Toughened him up and made him a man. That this was simply what father’s did and he was fine, he was fine, he was absolutely fine.  </em>
</p>
<p>4.</p>
<p>Too many hands held him down. Far more than the six that were available. He could feel at least a hundred, touching him, pressing into his back, burning at his neck, holding him down in the water. He thrashed and fought but the hundred hands were implacable. </p>
<p>Then they would drag him up. Allow him to catch his breath. Then plunge him back under again. </p>
<p>He thrashed and fought, which was alright. But he also screamed. And cried. And begged. And he hated for Vince to see him like this. In what he thought of his natural state. A weak quivering mess. But he was scared. So scared that it was all he could do.</p>
<p>Right as they were about to shove his face back down into the water he heard Vince scream “STOP!”</p>
<p>The men looked to Bainbridge and he nodded. They helped Howard to his feet, but they had to hold him up because his legs were pure jelly and he couldn’t support himself. He shook his sodden hair out of his eyes and looked up at Vince. </p>
<p>Vince’s eyes were red and puffy. His cheek was swollen from where Bainbridge had hit him. He was shaking uncontrollably. He waited until he caught Howard’s gaze before he started talking. His voice was so broken and uneven Howard almost didn’t make out what he said. “I-it’s alright H-oward. It’s gonna be o-ok.”</p>
<p>“Let’s get on with it,” Bainbridge said.</p>
<p>Vince didn’t remove his eyes from Howard. Even when Bainbridge uncapped a bottle full of pink liquid. He swore he could almost make out the label. That it said...Love Potion No. 9. </p>
<p>Howard shook his head. “No, no, no. Not for me, Vince. Not for me.”</p>
<p>Howard fought against his captors but was still very weak. All he could do was pull at them ineffectually. </p>
<p>“I’m not worth it. Please don’t do it for me.”</p>
<p>Not for him. His heart couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t worth it. Nowhere close. He was worthless. A worthless coward. They could have been together for years if he’d just...Vince had given him the opening and he hadn’t taken it. The last and final betrayal.They could have been together for years. If he had just…</p>
<p>“Please. I’m begging you.” Howard dropped to his knees and Bainbridge paused. “Look Bainbridge. I’m on my knees. Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. Don’t do this to him.”</p>
<p>Everything in hyperfocus. His one chance. His one last chance. One last chance to save Vince. Just once he could save Vince. Instead of Vince always having to save himself. Just once. </p>
<p>“Please. Please. Please,” he begged. “Whatever you want. I’ll give you anything you want.”</p>
<p>“That’s what you fail to understand old sport,” Bainbridge said. “This is what I want.” </p>
<p>Vince gave him a trembly little smile. “I love you Howard.”</p>
<p>Then Bainbridge tipped the bottle of love potion to his mouth. Vince parted his lips and drank the potion down.</p>
<p>Once the bottle was empty Vince closed his eyes. His chin trembled. Tears rolled down from his closed eyes. His dark eyelashes standing out against his pale skin. </p>
<p>Bainbridge casually threw the bottle into the lake. He rubbed his hands together and stared at Vince expectantly. </p>
<p>Nothing happened. Vince opened his eyes again. </p>
<p>Howard allowed himself to feel precisely one iota of relief. It hadn’t worked. </p>
<p>Bainbridge was apoplectic. “That old bitch. Gave me a dupe. Thought he was so bleedin’ smart. We’ll see who’s smart. Yes we will.”</p>
<p>Then with very little warning he kicked Vince’s chair backwards into the water. Vince sank quickly. Didn’t even have time to scream.  The loose rope dropped into the water as well and quickly disappeared from view. Bubbles erupted on the surface but faded quickly as Vince sank deeper and deeper with nothing to slow his descent. </p>
<p>Overhead the birds all screamed.</p>
<p>“Vince. VIIIIIIINCE!” Howard shrieked. The three men let go of his arms. They’d signed on for a lot. But they hadn’t signed on for this. </p>
<p>Howard splashed out into the water heading for the spot under the log where Vince had gone under. He dove under the water but couldn’t see anything through the murk.</p>
<p>He turned back to shore. “Help me!” He screamed. “You have to help me.”</p>
<p>He tried to dive down deeper, to see if he could find Vince, but the long and short of his swimming abilities consisted of dog paddling on the surface. But he kept trying.</p>
<p>When he came up again he heard someone speaking. He turned around to see Bainbridge murmuring to himself and taking off his shoes. “I’m coming my love. I’m so sorry. I’m coming.”</p>
<p>Bainbridge straightened up and dove into the water.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13 and Third Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The consequences of Vince's sacrfice become clear.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>1</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was on nights like this that Vince really regretted the fact that he possessed any principles at all. If he had no principles he’d be calling Claude up, tell him to ditch the kid, and come over for something fun. But unfortunately he did have principles. One could say what he lacked in standards he made up for with principles, if one were less drunk. Sounded well smart. Howard would like it. No. It wasn’t their day anymore. He wasn’t thinking about him anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes it was very painful. Being an optimist. There were certain times of year that Vince woke up very happy and hopeful. That something was going to change. The days he let his imagination run wild. Sure if there was ever a time to make a big gesture it would be on Valentine’s Day. Or Christmas. Or his birthday. Or the day they’d met.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was their anniversary. And he knew he was a loser for calling it that. Knew it was ridiculous. They’d barely known eachother two months and they’d been apart for ten years. But it was their anniversary. And so he’d bumbled around the house. Barely able to concentrate. For some reason certain that this would be the time Howard would burst through the door to declare his love. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing happened. And the later it got. The more Vince lost hope. The clock dispassionately ticked from 12:00 to 12:01 and it was over. Howard was never coming.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince decided to get very drunk. He started with the rest of the pre-mix flirtinis and alcopops he had in the fridge. Once he was done with those he dug out a bottle of whiskey that someone had given him when Bryan died. He hated the taste of whiskey. But was too pissed to care. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he came up with an absolute genius idea. He would call Howard. Just to say hello. Tell him happy anniversary. Quick chat and done. Then he’d be set for life. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he didn’t know Howard’s number. ‘N it wadn’t like he could just ring up Howard’s dad for it. Vince honked bitter laughter at the very thought. No. He was gonna have to do it by other means.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He went to grab one of his mirrors. One with a thick plastic edge that ran all the way around the outside. He laid it on the table and poured some of his whiskey onto the mirror, any liquid could do for scrying and he was a bit worried about making it to the sink without tripping. Then he murmured a simple scrying spell. The number flashed across the mirror. And before he could even consider what a bad idea it was, he’d already dialled the phone. And it was ringing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>***</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard sat at his kitchen table, sipping a beer and examining sheet music when the phone rang. Trying to find anything that might interest his kids. The school’s budget for music was miniscule and the only sheet music they would buy was for songs that were in the public domain. Not exactly thrilling for teenagers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard thought about not picking up the phone. He recognized the area code. Thought it might be his father though they hadn’t spoken in two years. And a call after midnight was never a good sign. But he always did pick up. In the end.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘Oward?” Howard’s mind went pure white in panic. He hadn’t heard that voice in ten years.  It was a bit deeper and a bit sadder, but he’d recognize it anywhere.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> He couldn’t speak, he’d only ruin it, he was in no place to fix things. He needed at least a year to prepare to speak with Vince. So he said, “You have reached Howard Moon. I’m not able to come to the phone now. Leave a message at the beep...beeeeep.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He squeezed his eyes shut. Willing the idiotic ruse to work, but also hoping that it wouldn’t. That Vince would see right through him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “Oh shit. Got your machine. Alright? Issssss me. Vince. Noir. Maybe you know some other Vince’s I dunno. But it’s this one.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard clung the phone with both hands. Pressing the handset to his ear so hard it was starting to ache. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Was jussss thinkin’ bout you. Wasssnoggin’ Corky but thinkin’ about you...shouldna said that. Ssstupid. Howard. Fast forward the tape passst the part I just said….N’ listen to it backwards so this part comes firs’. Kay? Kay. So I was thinkin’ a you ferrrr no pa’ticula’ reason ‘n thought I’d check in. We’ve known each other ten years. Happy ‘nniversary. Fuck, I get well maudlin’ when I’m drunk. I get well maudlin’ when I’m drunk Howard! Thasssomething you don’t know about me. One’a many.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard had finally gathered the courage to speak, but he’d let it go on too far. It would only embarrass Vince now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a loud sniff on Vince’s end.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry. Wish there was a way to start this over.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vince sniffled again then cleared his throat loudly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Miss you. Howard. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’ but I do. Maybe it’ssss better you know? If it was meant to happen it woulda happened right? I don’ think. Maybe I’m not sposed ta have it you know? Some people are sposed to have it and some people don’t. My parents didn’ ‘n Bryan tried. You gave it a go. Love isn’t for everybody. I’ll basically give it out for free... But any takers? ...No? There you have it, ‘Ward. Alone. Again.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a long pause. Howard could hear Vince’s breathing. And several more large sniffles. When he came back on the line he sounded embarrassed. “This was stupid, I shouldna-I shouldna called you. ‘M sorry. Just ignore it. I’m really sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard nearly spoke then to ask Vince not to go, but with a final whispered “sorry” Vince hung up the phone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Howard. The great big coward. Never called him back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge stayed underwater a very long time. Howard tried to dive back under either to help or at least see what was going on but he couldn’t see a blessed thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Bainbridge rose to the surface, coughing and sputtering, with Vince, limp, in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together Howard and Bainbridge pulled Vince back to shore. They laid him gently on the ground. He wasn’t breathing. White as marble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard froze. Bainbridge didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Vince’s mouth. Blowing in air. Then he pressed down on Vince’s chest in rhythm. Bringing him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shuffled around on his knees until he knelt behind Vince’s head, stroking his hair. When he caressed Vince’s cheek he was quite cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s mind kept circling around a horrible idea and every time a thought reached out to touch it he would withdraw from it, wincing, as if the idea were hot as white iron and would burn him horribly if he actually allowed the idea to be articulated. He was terrified that if he even let the idea into his head it would make it true. The only thing he could allow into his mind were a thousand half-started sentences. What if he’s...If he’s...He’s so col-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thought he had to cut off rather viciously. It had gotten too close. Too close to making it all real. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge kept working. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on Vince,” Howard whispered. “Come back to me little man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Vince did come back. A glurt of water erupted from his mouth and he rolled over onto his side, coughing and gagging. Every breath sounded ragged and painful. Howard brushed Vince’s hair away from his face. Bainbridge rubbed his back. Howard wanted to yell at Bainbridge to get away from him, but he didn’t want to spook Vince who was completely disorientated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The coughing subsided. Vince spit several times and then his breathing was easier. He sat up with help from Howard and Bainbridge and then promptly burst into tears. Howard reached out to take Vince into his arms but it was Bainbridge Vince threw his arms around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge murmured into Vince’s ear that he was so sorry and he would never do anything like that again and what a fool he’d been and Vince saying “I know. I know. It’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard felt like he wanted to scream. He felt completely disconnected from his body. When Bainbridge gently kissed the flat diamond on Vince’s nose and Vince laid his head on Bainbridge’s shoulder it felt like it was happening on a screen. Not a film. Well. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>a film. It felt further disconnected than that. Like home video footage within a movie. That bittersweet 8 millimeter. Where the goal is always to be as gutwrenchingly sweet as possible so that whichever character in the movie was watching it would miss home, or their kids, or their love, or their innocence. A home movie in a film only serves one purpose. To show you what you’ve lost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Howard had lost everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was so strange to miss someone sitting right in front of you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince finally seemed to notice Howard was sitting there too. He smiled at Howard. It was still sweet and open, but it lacked the cheekiness, it lacked the flirtiness, it lacked the Vince-ness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Howard’s surprise Vince let go of Bainbridge and leaned over and hugged Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you’re alright Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was so worried for you little man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s lips twitched up a bit at the sound of the nickname. Rueful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we-can we go talk? In private?” Howard asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s gaze, nearly imperceptibly, shifted to Bainbridge, who nodded. Vince then shifted his focus entirely to Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge stood up and then leant down to help Vince to his feet, but Vince waved him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard can help me. Right Howard?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. But we should start heading back. It’s going to get dark soon and I want you checked out by a doctor,” Bainbridge said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be along,” Vince said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge nodded, stooped over, rested a hand on Vince’s shoulder, and planted a kiss on the crown of his head. Vince reached up and squeezed his hand and then Bainbridge went to speak with his goons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stood up. His back already starting to stiffen, attempting to even get out of bed the next morning was going to be a struggle. In many ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Howard was steadily on his feet he reached out his hands and pulled Vince to his feet. Vince led them away from Bainbridge and the others toward a wide smooth rock surrounded by soft grass, practically made for sitting. Vince sat down and patted the rock beside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sat down. “Vince. I need you to come with me. My van is parked near the trailhead. I can take you to the hospital. Then we can get out of here. We have to get out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure if he’ll try to stop us, but I’ll protect you Vince. I will this time. I swear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard choked up. He swiped viciously under his eyes. This was no time to fall apart. Vince needed him. Vince needed him to save him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He straightened his shirt which was still askew. He could feel a layer of silt on his skin. These sensations were too much on top of everything else. He did so hate to be...to be...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry Vince. I’m so sorry.” Howard buried his face in his hands, sobbing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rubbed circles around his back. Gentle and soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright Howard. It’s all okay. This is how it was supposed to happen. Bainbridge and I were always meant to be together.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sat up in horror. “No. No, no, no, that’s not-He drugged you Vince. What you’re feeling. It isn’t real.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is. In the end it was always supposed to be him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he’s done this before, remember? When we were kids? It’s the exact same thing. He’s doing it again, but this time it doesn’t wear off in an hour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would never wear off. Vince had told him. The effects lasted forever. Those rogue thoughts had vaulted themselves over the mental blockade. More were storming the east gate. Soon enough they overran his many mental defenses and took the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dark thoughts had free rein. Permanent. Vince’s worst nightmare had come true. And it was permanent. And he didn’t care. Because he was different. So different. He spoke slowly. Deliberately. Not the usual torrent of words that seemed completely daft until you took apart his sentences and put them back together in the right order. He sat still. Didn’t play with his hair or wiggle about or fidget like a little monkey. He sat up straight, not his usual devilishly sexy slouch. Christ, even his accent was different. But even all that was of little concern because Vince thought he was in love with his abuser. And that was the true horror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d lost. He’d utterly failed. Once again he had failed to protect Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but he does love me,” Vince said. “And I’m not forgetting the past, but...I love him. And he loves me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince cupped Howard’s cheek, rubbing his thumb gently on Howard’s face. “And I still love you too Howard. But I think we’re better as friends. Things always go wrong for us when we try for more. It just never was quite right. Wasn’t meant to be. But you’re still my best friend. I mean that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. This isn’t you. Why aren’t you angry? He nearly killed you. You should be threatening to stab him up. Not-he doesn’t care about you Vince. It’s a spell. It’s fake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s kind but implacable close-lipped smile was going to drive him mad. “He wouldn’t have given me the love potion if he didn’t care. He just finally gave us an excuse to stop resisting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard hunched over. His head between his knees. Certain he was going to be sick. Vince brushed his hair out of his face for him, as Howard spat a few times to try and clear his mouth of the foul taste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to grab Vince and drag him to the van. Drive like a madman and pray that distance would weaken the spell’s hold. But the truth was he could barely stand, let alone drag someone who didn’t want to be dragged at least half a kilometer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Very quietly Vince said, “you’re still my best friend Howard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t look up from between his legs, staring at the soft grass underfoot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go,” Vince said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached out to squeeze Howard’s shoulder. Howard caught his hand and held it to his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t go,” Howard said. Thankful that it was dark enough that Vince couldn’t see the tears, though he’d surely be able to hear them in his voice. “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to. But I’ll see you soon. Very soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Vince, kindly but firmly, pulled his hand away from Howard. Then he walked away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did hope Howard would be all right. Vince considered himself to be an optimist so he had to believe that in the end Howard would be happy for him. It would just take some time to get used to the idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was worried though. Howard had still been sitting on the rock with his face buried in his hands when Vince and Bainbridge and the others left.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge carried Vince all the way to his car and Vince couldn’t help but be embarrassed by the big fuss. When Bainbrige had first tried to pick him up he’d refused, he didn’t like being carried, it made him feel like a child, but they’d barely gone a quarter of the way when his legs gave out. So Bainbridge scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way. Gently chastising him for being such a silly thing, should have let himself be carried from the start. Vince didn’t reply, he just rested his head against Bainbridge’s chest. He tilted his eyes upward and was relieved to see the massive cloud of birds had dispersed. All their squawking had been giving him a headache. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Bainbridge took him to the A&amp;E to be looked over. The doctor said he would be just fine, but to take it easy for a few days, just to be safe. Bainbridge promised the doctor he would make sure Vince was taken care of in every way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s quite precious to me, you know,” Bainbridge said, and kissed the side of Vince’s head. Vince smiled and blushed, tucking his long hair, getting a bit too long, behind his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once that was done they returned to Bainbridge’s home. Someone had cleared away the messes in the dining room and kitchen, Vince was glad of that, he didn’t want to be reminded of that day’s earlier unpleasantness. All he really wanted to do was go to sleep in Bainbridge’s arms. Knowing, finally, that he was safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wasn’t quite sure how long he sat on the rock. When he finally became aware of his surroundings again it was full dark. He slowly rose to his feet. His back ached almost as much as his head. He made his slow stumbling way back to his van.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stuck the key in the ignition. The engine turned over, but didn’t start. Howard sniffed loudly and swiped under his nose roughly. Then tried the ignition again. The van still wouldn’t start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel his chin trembling. A sure sign he was going to start crying. Mr. Rabbit hopped into his lap. Howard ran his fingers gently through Mr. Rabbit’s fur. “I’m sorry,” he told Mr. Rabbit. “I couldn’t save him for us.” He sat, petting Mr. Rabbit’s ears, for a long time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He braced his forehead against the steering wheel, whispering “please, please please” as he tried the engine again. The universe loved to kick Howard when he was down, but even the universe took pity on him. The van engine roared to life and he was able to drive back to his father’s house without further incident.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This streak ended when he went inside and barked his shin on the same little end table he always did when he entered this godforsaken house, he almost dropped Mr. Rabbit. Howard kicked the table. And, liking the way it felt, kicked it again. Harder. Again. And again. Mr. Rabbit jumped out of his arms and hopped away. Howard kicked the table until he kicked one of the legs loose. He picked it up by one of its remaining legs and smashed it on the ground. Over and over again until the top splintered apart and one of the other legs flew off. And that felt even better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stalked into the living room and saw various dog figurines sitting on the mantle, including a replacement for the beagle he’d accidentally knocked over, paid with from his own money. He picked them up and smashed them on the floor one by one. Loving the sound of the ceramic shattering on the hardwood. He stomped on the shards until they were powder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a painting of an old hunting dog hung up behind his father’s chair. Howard ripped it off the wall, tearing the wallpaper underneath, and bashed it against the wall. The frame crumpled. He ripped the canvas in half. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had he been screaming this entire time? Must have done. His throat felt stripped and raw. But he didn’t slow down as he ripped apart his father’s tidy perfect little house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stomped into the kitchen. He ripped open one of the cupboards and threw the mugs at the wall. He picked up one of the kitchen chairs by the back and smashed it on the floor over and over again until it fell apart in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The initial rush, the temporary respite from the tightness in his chest was over. But still he continued. Just to see if he could get it back for just a moment, just one more moment without the pain in his heart. Because if he didn’t have one more moment then the pain was never going to end and his eternity of torment had already begun.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The destruction took on a more desperate quality. He ripped open the freezer door then slammed it over and over and over again. Eventually it got jammed and wouldn’t close all the way. He kicked glass out of the way and sank down onto the floor. None of this was helping Vince. He had to help Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he had absolutely no idea where to start. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Third Interlude</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>ONCE UPON A TIME</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a girl named Fawn and a boy named Rene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fawn eventually found her way back to her animals. And as she returned to her friends the spell’s hold on her loosened. She still didn’t converse with them with the ease she had as a child, but each day she found she understood them better and better, and her hatred of Rene grew more and more distant. Remote. Then one day she realized that she could understand all her friends perfectly, and curiously, she hadn’t thought of Rene in weeks, he only resurfaced in her mind because he’d sent her a very nasty letter that she felt no need to respond to. She no longer hated him. She was free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she found herself thinking of the child. And hoped he was happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rene found no such solace in beautiful clothes, the night sky, or bright colors. He bid good riddance to every man who left him. They could never understand his hatred of his wife. Many of them couldn’t understand why his ire was directed at her rather than his parents. And eventually they grew tired of the missed dates, the midnight screaming matches over the phone, and the constant bitter plotting. Invariably they thought “how can a man so beautiful, be so ugly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Rene met Andre. Sitting in front of a Van Gogh. Sketching it. And for the first time in oh so long Rene forgot about Fawn. He just felt drawn to Andre. Like he’d been circling him his entire life and was finally reaching the center of the spiral. Andre was the most gorgeous person Rene had ever seen. He single handedly reignited Rene’s love of all things beautiful. Something Rene thought was dead but was merely dormant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent the day together. Talking and laughing and as Andre spoke about the art, Rene felt the paintings come alive for him once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andre had been hurt before. So had Rene. Andre was slow to trust. So was Rene. Andre thought this was real. Rene had never felt anything more real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they waited. Because they didn’t want to break it. Whatever it was. Growing between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Rene almost did break it. Several times. The hatred in his heart would send up a flare and he would show Andre his ugly side. He couldn’t seem to help it. The love spell, the curse, still shaping his life after 30 years. He was angrier that Fawn was ignoring him, not responding to any of his attacks, than he ever had been at her counter maneuvers. So then he was compelled to devise ever crueler torments. And Andre would leave. Just like all the others. But unlike all the others, Rene would go after him. Because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing Andre. His love for Andre  grew and grew and eventually he found it even outweighed his hatred of Fawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He vowed to show Andre how much he was loved. He would show Andre that he was the one Rene had been searching for his entire life and resigned himself to never finding. Then, finally, they could kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything had to be perfect. And yet everything went wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The reservations at the best restaurant fell through. So they ate at a quiet little cafe. Where both of their orders were laughably incorrect. Andre could find the humor in any situation. It was one of the things Rene loved most about him. And he could always make Rene laugh. Even when he was being moody. So they giggled and found each other’s hands in the middle of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rene knocked over a glass. Soaking Andre’s shirt. They were overcharged. Rene twisted his ankle on the way home. And just as they made it to Rene’s apartment the power went out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the best night of Rene’s life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because...as they sat on the couch, candles lighting the darkened flat,  he leaned in close, past the point of plausible deniability, and Andre closed his eyes and leaned in as well. And their lips met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world looked different after kissing your true love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning Howard cleaned up his father’s little house. Sweeping away the fragments of the dog figurines. Attempting to fix the sagging door on the freezer and eventually just giving up and gaff taping it closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every time he looked at a clock his brain couldn’t help but do a mental tally of how long Vince had been trapped in that house...with that monster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hours turned into days. He wandered the little house like a ghost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each night he slept on the couch with Mr. Rabbit clutched to his chest. Though most of the sleep he got was thin and unsatisfying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was nearly two in the morning when Howard awoke to the phone ringing. He shot to a sitting position, Mr. Rabbit let out a squeak and hopped out of his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stood and stumbled toward the phone next to the kitchen. He stubbed his toe on the coffee table as he moved. The house really did hate him and the feeling was mutual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He almost dropped the phone, he fumbled it a few times before finally pressing it to his ear. “Lo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had to lean against the wall weak with relief. He swiped his hands over his eyes. He was apparently cursed to have a hair trigger for tears the rest of his life. He’d truly thought that he might not ever hear Vince’s voice again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard are you there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sniffled loudly and cleared his throat, aiming for some semblance of normal and missing by a mile. “Yes, little man, I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. It’s really late. You were probably sleeping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about that. I don’t mind. What’s going on? Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It’s nothing like that. Bainbridge would never hurt me. It’s just...Do you wanna come over later? Like in the morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I just...miss you. Like talking to you. And I haven’t been sleeping very well. And. I’d just really like to see you.” Then Vince said in a voice so small it broke Howard’s heart, “Will you come?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Yes. I’ll come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Genius!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a relief that not everything had changed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to come around 7 or 8?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though clearly plenty had. The Vince he knew had never voluntarily risen before noon in his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince quickly gave him the address.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Howard wanted to keep the conversation going forever, but he was also terrified he’d misstep and Vince would decide them seeing each other wasn’t a good idea. And he had to see him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had to. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night little man. Get some sleep.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard would not be sleeping. He’d had an idea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince hung up the phone in Bainbridge’s study. He ruffled his hand through his hair. Feeling relieved. Howard would come. Maybe with that handled he would finally be able to go to sleep. He’d been sleeping in the same room since he was five years old and he was finding the adjustment to living at Bainbridge’s house more challenging than he’d expected. He tossed and turned all night. He felt horrible because he knew he was keeping Bainbridge up as well, but he couldn’t help it. Bainbridge was lovely about it of course, he only wanted what was best for Vince. And Vince loved Bainbridge, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit off…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an owl on the branch outside the window. It tapped on the window with one long talon. Vince’s mouth narrowed at the sight of it. “Leave me alone,” he hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge walked into the study, his eyes squinted against the light. “Are you alright darling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pasted on a smile, pointedly ignoring the owl’s intense gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I just needed to talk to Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So late?” Bainbridge sat on the arm of Vince’s leather chair. He rubbed his thumb over Vince’s cheekbone. Vince leaned into the touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s going to come over tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge shook his head slowly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? So much going on tomorrow. Your grandparents arriving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just need to see him first. Is that all right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince didn’t feel the need to add that his stomach turned to knots whenever he thought of seeing his grandparents again and that Howard would help him calm down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Well. Yes of course, you don’t have to ask. He’s your friend and it’s your house as well Vince. Or at least it will be. After the wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning Howard dressed with great deliberation. His best, ie his ugliest, orange hawaiian shirt. His cords and converses. And the suit jacket Vince had taken in for him. All in all it was a very Howard outfit. Which was exactly what he was going for.  He spent nearly as much time fussing with his hair as Vince usually did. Combing it this way and that. Experimenting with where to part it. Slicking it backwards. Before giving up and mussing it into its usual messy tussle.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I look alright?” He asked Mr. Rabbit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Rabbit blinked in response. Howard wasn’t much of an optimist but he decided to take it as a yes all the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the thousandth time that morning he patted his pocket. Making sure his secret weapon was still in place. It was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At 6:30 in the morning Howard climbed into his van and drove to Bainbridge’s home. Even larger and nicer than his folks’ old house. It only took him 10 minutes to drive to it. He patted his pocket seven times on the journey. He pulled the van up to the curb out front and sat in the van, staring at the house, imagining what Vince was doing inside. He sat there for precisely 19 minutes. At 6:59 he walked up to the doorstep. He patted his jacket pocket one last time then waited with his hand raised and curled into a gentle fist, his eyes focused intently on his watch. The very moment it turned seven he knocked on the door. Three long slow knocks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince yanked the door open, a wide grin on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all wrong. So wrong. Howard wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. Vince, real Vince, would not want Howard to see him this way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince wore black slacks and a thin expensive looking sky blue cashmere sweater. The slacks were held up by a simple black leather belt. He wore sensible black shoes with not a sparkle or heel in sight. On his wrist was an expensive watch. His whole look was tasteful, understated, and horrendous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had dark circles under his eyes. Not enough sleep. After spending a few nights with Vince he finally understood the depth of his insomnia. His face was bare. No makeup. It made him look pale. Like he wasn’t really there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And his hair. His hair was what made Howard feel as if he was committing blasphemy just by seeing it. It would kill Vince, if he was himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had it cut short. Far too short. He had it neatly combed and swept back off his forehead. Vince had never wanted Howard to know his natural hair color. Howard had asked several times and Vince never answered. Just a few days previous he’d once again asked, and Vince had put him off with his usual joke, but Howard noticed that there was something lurking behind his cheeky grin. A seriousness. He legitimately hadn’t wanted Howard to know and Howard had decided to stop asking. As far as he was concerned Vince’s natural hair color was raven black. But now. Now, Vince’s neat short hair was a perfectly average dark blond. Perfectly average. Nothing special. And Howard had knowledge he’d never been meant to possess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt guilty. This person. This blank. Was the mask. The real Vince had black hair and wore eyeliner and lippy and looked pretty when he cried and even prettier when he smiled. The real Vince wore far too many accessories and drew on beauty marks for dramatic effect and painted his nails black then let it chip away to nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t do this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw a look of apprehension flash across Vince’s face.  A look of fear. That Howard was going to turn around and walk away again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t do this, but he would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he pasted a smile on his face and said “Hello little man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s smile came back, with a relieved tinge. “Howard!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stepped back to let Howard into the house. Howard had half been expecting Vince to initiate a hug. At home Vince had insisted on hugging him if he left the room for more than three minutes. But he just stood there. His hands down loosely at his sides. Not fiddling with his hair or jammed into his pockets or waving around like usual. If Howard wanted a Vince hug he was going to have to initiate one, though he had no idea how it would be received. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard held his arms out and stepped forward a bit and to his relief Vince smiled and stepped into them. Howard wrapped his arms tightly around Vince. Resting his cheek on the crown of Vince’s head. The smell of his mint and lavender shampoo was gone, along with the smoke of the cauldron fire, but the clean sweetness of just Vince himself was still there. Howard felt tears prickle his eyes again and he let go rapidly. He faked a coughing fit so he could wipe his eyes without it being too conspicuous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince led him down a long hallway to a bright sunny sitting room with a floor to ceiling window directed toward a garden surrounded by trees. Vince carefully sat down on the overstuffed dusty rose couch. Howard sat down on the couch as well, at a respectful distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked out the window. Two birds flew up to the glass, tapping at it with their beaks and chirping aggressively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince frowned at the birds. “I wish they’d stop doing that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are they saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smile tugged at Howard’s lips. “Go on. I love it when you tell me what they’re saying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince ran his hand through his hair, crossing his legs and half turning away from Howard to avoid his gaze. “It’s a tough dialect. It’s not worth it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not use your gift?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince didn’t respond to that. Just shrugged again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long awkward silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you getting on?” Howard asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince turned back toward him, smiling. “Really good.” His eyes flashed at Howard then straight ahead. “Sorry if that’s hard for you to hear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was. Of course it was. But not for the reasons Vince thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just glad you’re alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s secret weapon suddenly felt paltry and ridiculous, but he had to try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I brought you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This lit Vince up and Howard found himself smiling as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Vince squeaked. “What is it? Wait don’t tell me. What is it?” He scooted closer to Howard on the couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stuck his hand in the pocket of the jacket and handed Vince the mixtape. He’d found his jacket in the van when he’d been looking for Mr. Rabbit, the tape still in the pocket. He’d finally gotten around to adding a side B. If nothing else Vince would always have a piece of him. If he wanted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked at it in awe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned the tape over in his hands. He’d been heartbroken when he thought it went up in the fire along with all his other things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bainbridge burned all his things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That he didn’t even want anymore so it didn’t matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bainbridge had burned his house down with him inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Bainbridge knew he would make it out. He’d never been in any real danger. He was a witch for goodness sake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except he wasn’t a witch anymore, was he? A couple days ago he’d tried a simple spell, just to warm his tea as it had gone cold while he and Bainbridge spoke for hours. It was a spell he’d done a thousand times. He’d been doing it since he was a child. And yet when he took a sip it was tepid and disgusting. He did the spell again. Same result. He and Bainbridge had spent an entire morning attempting different spells but nothing worked. He didn’t know why that should be. There had been only one other time he’d lost his ability to wield magic. But his heart wasn’t broken. He’d know if it was. He would know. Hadn’t it been broken enough times for him to know the feeling? He loved Bainbridge. He was happy with Bainbridge. So why should looking at the Mixtape make him want to cry?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Vince said. He threw his arms around Howard in a tight hug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard hugged him back. The “you are safe and loved hug”. His favorite. He’d been such a child. But it was lovely Howard remembered. Vince closed his eyes and sighed into Howard’s shoulder. They sat like this for a while, arms wrapped around each other. Faces buried in each other’s necks.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they finally pulled apart Howard’s eyes had a dreamy half shuttered look to them. As Vince drew back he brushed Howard’s cheek with his own, moving slowly. Relishing the feel of Howard’s skin on his own. He caught Howard’s eye and he stopped moving. His mouth was very close to Howard’s. It would be so easy to kiss him. Move just a bit and his lips would be on Howard’s and everything would be-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince jerked backwards. He couldn’t kiss Howard. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Howard. He loved Bainbridge. He wasn’t a slag anymore. He had one man. Bainbridge. This had been a mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard leaned forward making up the distance every time Vince leaned back. “Vince. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince squirmed away from Howard and climbed to his feet. He walked toward the window. Now more than thirty birds were at the window. Pecking hard at the glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed the Mixtape to his heart. Everything was all wrong. He was supposed to be happy. He was happy. He had really good news and he had to tell Howard. However he found he could not look at Howard while he told him the really good news. He stuck the Mixtape in his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have some really good news.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s voice was very careful. It made Howard nervous. He’d been sure that the secret weapon was actually working. The real Vince was coming through. And he hadn’t even played it yet. Then it had fallen apart. He had to get them back on track. And whatever Vince’s “news” was, it wasn’t going to be good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bainbridge and I are getting married.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was exactly what Howard had been afraid of, but he was still shocked by how much the confirmation hurt. Anybody who said the worst was over once your worst fears came true were either idiots or liars. There was no relief in your worst fears finally being realized. It just meant that your worst fears were now reality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head. “Vince. You can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to do everything in his power. He was growing desperate. There was nothing he wouldn’t try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes I can. I’m going to. I love him.” There was no waver, no doubt, no conflict. He meant it. He loved Bainbridge and meant to marry him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The way your parents loved each other?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment Howard said it he wished he could call it back. Catch his words in a giant butterfly net before they reached Vince’s ears. But he didn’t have the reflexes for it. Sound traveled too fast and before he was even aware he’d said it, Vince's mouth was hanging open, and his eyes, giant projector screens that betrayed his every thought, widened with hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard sprung off the couch; walked toward Vince with his hands out. “Vince. I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince backed away from him. He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. Shying away from Howard. “Don’t touch me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard withdrew his hands as if he’d been bitten. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why was it so hard? He loved Bainbridge. It was supposed to be easy from now on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored the stricken look on Howard’s face. Told himself he didn’t care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The birds had given up on chirping. Now they were screeching. More than 50 of them, all at the window. They were so loud. Their noise wormed into his head and echoed there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His parents. The one thing he couldn’t square in his mind. Everything else made perfect sense. Everything leading him perfectly to the love of his life. All the pain. All the anger. Every bit of it had a perfect explanation in Bainbridge’s love of him. Bainbridge was passionate. Bordering on obsessive. And more than anything else, didn’t Vince want to be wanted? But there were his parents. And he more than anyone knew the damage the spell had done to them. He couldn’t work out in his mind how something that had brought him such great happiness had caused them such pain. Because he was happy. He was so happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurt his head to think about it too much. And the birds were getting louder. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince backed slowly into the corner furthest from the window...and Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t want him to feel trapped so he hung back. He needed to try and make Vince understand. Howard hated to hurt him more, but the mention of his folks had finally shaken him. Made him snap out of it, if only for a moment. He didn’t know what else to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bryan worked his whole life to protect you from exactly this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked like he’d been slapped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like methodically explaining to a nine-year old that Santa Claus didn’t exist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was too much. He was getting too full. All the noise. Howard being here. Saying all these horrible things. And he was supposed to be happy and the birds were so loud.. He wanted to cover his ears. But didn’t because Howard was still talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “What if the spell doesn’t only apply to birth children?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s anger had a sharpening effect. He felt himself pulling back from the edge of panic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wot?” Vince said, his voice acid dangerous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He straightened up and turned back to Howard, slick and slow as a panther. Howard was treading dangerous ground. If he didn’t know that he was a fool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wot you just say to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wanted to step backward from the look on Vince’s face. Cold fury. Incandescent. It was terrifying, but he looked like Vince. The spark was back in his eye. He sounded like Vince. For the first time since he emerged from the water and threw his arms around Dixon Bainbridge he sounded like himself. Furious but real. He had to push harder. It was working.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The birds completely filled the floor to ceiling window.  It was impossible to see the grove of trees through them. A whirling screeching mass of feathers and claws roiled at the glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every flap of their wings or peck at the glass hit him like a blow. It was so loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard said the absolute cruelest thing he could think of. It might end any chance he and Vince had of ever being together. But it was the only thing he could think of that might manage to get Vince to see the truth. To see the danger he was in. There were some things he couldn’t rationalize. Howard could tell. The cracks were showing. So he’d do what he had to. Anything to get Vince to leave Bainbridge. Even if he didn’t want to be with Howard at least he would be away from Bainbridge. Safe. Howard would hurt him to save him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “What if you and Bainbridge adopt a child and once they become </span>
  <em>
    <span>your child </span>
  </em>
  <span>you stop loving them? Do you think you’ll just hand the kid right back? Or just drop him off somewhere five years later when you can’t take it anymore?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince lunged for him and tackled him to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was quite a bit smaller so it was only because he managed to take Howard by surprise that he was able to bring him down. Once Howard hit the ground with a surprised “oof!” Vince climbed on top of him, straddling him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed Howard by the lapels. “Say somethin’ else Howard. You got somethin’ else smart to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had run out of smart little plans. So he opted for the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just that I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stared down at Howard and the birds quieted down. His rage grew quieter as well. Howard’s tiny brown eyes were as wide as they were capable of being.  His fists were wrapped in Howard’s atrocious orange shirt. Hearing Howard’s voice; that lovely deep rumble. He could just lean down and- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Vince pulled back the sound of the birds came back full force. He felt this pull toward Howard. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, he couldn’t seem to stop circling Howard. But he hadn’t been trying to fight it nearly hard enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had been about to kiss him. He was sure of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tried to sit up, but he was still pinned. “Vince. I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shook his head slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you. And you love me. You know it. You asked me here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just wanted to talk to you,” Vince mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you love me. We love each other. I’ve loved you since the day I met you. Since the minute I saw you. You were laughing. At me. And you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You left. You never came back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It’s because I was a coward. But I’m not scared anymore Vince. “ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shook his head again. His short nothing special hair flopped onto his forehead. He was trying to hide behind his fringe, but his hair was too short. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I called you. You never called back. I missed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince wasn’t pinning Howard anymore, but Howard stayed put all the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you too little man. Please. Don’t let him tear us apart again. Not after we just found each other again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s too broken now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No it isn’t. I swear it isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s the best I could get.” There was a dead certainty in Vince’s eyes that terrified Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he’s not. Vince please, listen to me.” Howard begged. But Vince’s eyes were a thousand miles away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt like his skull was full of screeching clawing birds flapping about in his mind tank. He couldn’t think with all this noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Howard was still talking, but now he couldn’t hear what he was saying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were so loud. And they wouldn’t leave him alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were pushing everything out with their beating wings. Soon there wouldn’t be anything of him left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but Bainbridge is dangerous. He’s hurt you before. He could do it again. All I’m asking-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up shut up shut up!” Vince shrieked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard snapped his mouth shut hard enough his teeth clacked together painfully. But Vince wasn’t talking to him. He was screaming at the birds. He pushed himself up to climb off Howard. Howard grabbed at his hands, but Vince shook him off. He rose and stormed to the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it!” Vince screamed. He beat his hands on the glass. “Get outta here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard climbed to his feet. “Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince whirled around on him, his eyes red with tears. “They won’ leave me alone ‘Oward. I’m so tired, n’ they won’ let me sleep. I can’ understand what they’re sayin’ and they won’ leave me alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rushed forward and Howard thought he was going for a hug, even going so far as to hold his arms out just a bit to welcome it, but Vince walked right past him. Vince picked up a large crystal ashtray and launched it at the window. It shattered a large section of the glass. The birds outside dispersed briefly but then gathered around the window once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get outta here!” Vince hissed at them. “Leave!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed more mantel knickknacks, a replica flintlock pistol, a decorative snuff box, a statuette of some twat in a hat, and launched them one by one at the window. Screaming at the birds to go away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge walked in. “I heard a crash and-what the devil is going on in here?” He ran to Vince, sweeping him up in his arms. “Darling, what’s going on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shoved him off and continued to scream at the birds. Then he tried to pick up a coaster set and throw it, but Bainbridge caught him by the wrists, forcing him to drop it. Vince pulled and fought with him. Howard grabbed Bainbridge on the arm and jerked him away, forcing him to let go of Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge whirled on Howard. “What did you do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard drew himself up to his full height. He towered over Bainbridge when he wasn’t hunching and slouching. “No, Bainbridge. Not me. What did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge recoiled a bit from the pure disgust on Howard’s face. He recovered quickly and tried to pretend he hadn’t, but Howard saw it. Howard knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get out of my house,” Bainbridge said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a chance. If he needs me I stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Howard and Bainbridge argued,the birds flitted into the room through the holes Vince had made with the glass. They circled Vince every once in a while trying to alight on his shoulders but taking off again instantly when he shuddered away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince ducked down lower and lower to get away from the birds but they just kept coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fell to his knees and still sank lower. He whimpered. And it was Howard who noticed first. Howard who rushed over and huddled over him, protecting him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A split second later Bainbridge turned and saw what was happening. He batted at the birds, trying to clear them away. “Get him out of here,” he barked at Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded curtly and picked Vince up. Vince buried his face in Howard’s shoulder. Howard rushed out of the room. Bainbridge viciously swatted at some of the birds then followed them out, slamming the door behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard looked at the front door, then down at Vince in his arms, back to the door. Bainbridge could easily see what he was planning with his shifty eyes. He held out his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give him to me,” Bainbridge said softly. Vince had calmed down and he didn’t wish to set him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard hesitated, not wanting to hand Vince over, but then Vince unhooked his arms from behind Howard’s neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put me down Howard. I’m alright now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The essential Vince-ness. It was gone again. This made Howard very scared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard still didn’t set him down. “Please Vince. Just come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince gave him a close lipped smile.  All he could manage. Then shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard lowered Vince’s legs and helped him stand up. Vince pulled Howard into a tight hug. “Go back to your father’s Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. You did what was right. Proper. You tried. Because you felt like you had to. You made your attempt to save me. Your obligation has been fulfilled. I don’t need saving by you. Never have. Never will. Goodbye Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince turned away from Howard and toward the staircase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince climbed the stairs. As he made his way upstairs he put himself back together. Swiping the tears away from his eyes. Straightening his clothes. Finger combing his hair until it looked perfect, perfectly average, nothing special. He did not spare Howard another glance and before long he was completely out of view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge turned to Howard. He smiled. “Get out of my house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moon. The only thing that keeps me from thrashing you where you stand is that it would hurt Vince. Are we clear on that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge sucked on his teeth, annoyed. He continued “But he does not want you here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll change his mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bainbridge said. “But for now, he does not want you here, and so it is with great pleasure that I throw you OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Bainbridge punctuated his statement by bullrushing Howard, grabbing him by the lapels and steering him down the hallway. Only pausing to readjust his grip so Howard was pointing the right way. Toward the door. Howard fought against him, but Bainbridge was determined and he managed to throw Howard out of the house. He slammed the door in Howard’s face and locked it. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Howard worries about Vince. Vince sees his grandparents.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not angry darling. I just wish you’d told me, so I could have done something about it.” Bainbridge said. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Vince’s hair out of his eyes. They were no longer in Baindridge’s bedroom, which had several large windows and a skylight. Those bloody birds had been tormenting Vince for days and he’d known nothing about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well now he knew. And he had sorted it out quick smart. There was one bedroom in his home that had no windows. A very unpopular guest room he generally assigned to whichever of his nieces or nephews had most recently displeased him when they stayed over to give his sister and her snivelling husband a night off. Now it would serve as Vince’s bedroom until they could find a more permanent solution for their pest problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Vince murmured. His voice was very quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright. Just get some rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Sposed to see my grandparents. They were coming for tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every time Vince blinked it took longer and longer for him to open his eyes again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll have them over tomorrow. They won’t mind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know them. They’ll be-” Vince’s eyes drifted closed and did not open again. He had fallen asleep mid sentence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Bainbridge never found out what the Violette’s would be. Nor did he much care. Vince was in no state for guests. And through his limited interactions with the Violette’s he knew they would scent weakness like it was blood in the water. They would run roughshod over the both of them if he gave them half a chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He telephoned them, to tell them that tea would have to be postponed because Vince had had an accident and while he wasn’t badly hurt, he was rather shaken and not feeling up to visitors. They insisted they would come anyway. He told them it wasn’t necessary and Vince just needed rest. They pushed harder. For more information about his state. Trying to extract an agreement that they could come over just to check on their grandson. Bainbridge staunchly refused and said that they could come round the next day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been waiting to be reunited with him a long time,” Vince’s grandmother, Genevieve Violette said, and she was the one to watch out for, her voice was soft and quite beautiful but she was dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then surely another day won’t hurt. So he can meet you feeling his best,” Bainbridge said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he thought that was the end of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had been sure that once he was able to sleep he would feel better, but when he did finally close his eyes and drift off he was beset by nightmares. He shot awake, gasping, not sure what time it was because of the lack of window. Completely disorientated. At first he thought he had simply woken from one nightmare to find himself in another, one with crass purple taffeta and no windows for escape, then he remembered where he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now I told you, he’s not ready for guests,” he heard Bainbridge say, his deep voice still loud and booming even though he was all the way downstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t hear the reply, but he could practically see the french disdain seeping up through the floorboards. From what he remembered his grand-mere was a hard woman. As a child he’d been scared of her. Usually very outgoing he always got a case of the shy’s when she visited. Once he’d dropped an ice lolly on the carpet of her parlor and she pinched him hard on the arm. He pulled the ugly duvet over his head. Told himself he wasn’t hiding. He was just going back to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The duvet did very little to block Bainbridge’s voice. “You may be his grandparents but he is my fiance and I’d thank you to leave, or you won’t see him tomorrow either. Good day!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He covered his smile with his hand. With Bainbridge there he’d be less scared of his grandparents. Then he really did sink back into sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge escorted the Violette’s out of his home, taking special care to hustle them past the door that led to the sitting room with the shattered window. His glass guy was out of town for his kid’s birthday or something, but he’d threatened and cajoled him into coming back and fixing it that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was parked across the street from Bainbridge’s house, keeping watch. He’d seen the striking elderly couple enter and was surprised to see them leaving so quickly. The woman had to be in her late 80’s but her hair was jet black, she had high cheekbones, and large blue eyes. The man had not aged quite as well but was still a tall handsome man with a squashed nose that looked quite familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might take Howard a while, but he always got there eventually. The elderly couple were Vince’s grandparents. Of course that was why he’d given the potion to Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Vince’s grandparents were getting awfully close to his poorly camouflaged van. Howard had to crank back his seat quickly and lay flat until they walked past. Howard wished he’d brought one of Vince’s emergency mirrors, so he could make sure the coast was clear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to risk it. He slowly rose. His tiny eyes darting this way and that to make sure his cover wasn’t blown. He seemed to be alone. He decided he’d better move. If he was planning to stake out the house all night then he needed to be on the move at all times. Rotating. Never establishing a pattern or a habit. Unpredictability. Yes, sir, that was the way to avoid detection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He backed his van up about twenty meters, blowing off most of the leaves he’d meticulously placed on his hood as part of the camoflauge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled a pair of field glasses from his pocket and scanned the windows. He had to be ready. Any opportunity could be his last. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was finally growing dark. Howard had not left the van once. After several circles around the house he had ascertained which room was Bainbridge’s and he made sure to park outside it once it got dark. He was sure he would be able to catch a glimpse of Vince. Just to make sure he was alright. But Vince never got close to the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where was he? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince woke up feeling disgusting. He was sure it must be nighttime. His sleep schedule was going to be even more bollocksed than usual. He hated it when he slept all day. And he always felt very strange when he fell asleep in his clothes. Strangely vulnerable. He went to swipe his hair back as he forgot for the millionth time that it was short now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced across the room and caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity that sat in one corner of the room. He went and sat in front of it. He smiled a little smile to himself as he ran his fingers over the surface of the vanity. It was totally clear. No lotions. No potions. No fake eyelashes or black lippy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked into the mirror. Staring deep into his own eyes in a way he only did when he really needed to concentrate. The soul stare. When he really got lost in his reflection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t entirely sure how long he sat there. Staring at his own reflection. His old friend, looking and feeling like a stranger.  He made a few goofy faces at himself in the mirror. Twisting his mouth this way and that, crossing his eyes, sticking out his tongue. Then he tried a smile. Just a normal real smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first attempt was no good at all. Corners were all wilty. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Where was the smile?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next attempt was a bit better. At least his mouth was the right shape. Now he just had to fix his eyes. Attempt to look just a bit less like a sad bushbaby. But every time he concentrated on tilting the corners of his eyes up he had to take concentration away from his mouth and his lips instantly pulled back down into a pained expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried once again and the whole thing looked more like a grimace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did it matter? He was being silly. Just because he didn’t look happy didn’t mean he wasn’t happy. He was so happy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he’d decided. He’d chosen. And he’d made the right choice. He’d chosen the one who stuck around. Bainbridge had been around him his whole life. Howard had left. Easy. Easiest choice he’d ever made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled at his reflection again, but his reflection did not look convinced, so Vince scowled at it, then snatched the top sheet off the bed and used it to cover the mirror. Always looking in the mirror. Preening. It was ridiculous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He patted his hands on his trousers, trying to dry them off a bit, and something rattled inside one of his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard still hadn’t glimpsed Vince. And it had been hours. It was making Howard nervous. All evidence pointed to the potion working on Bainbridge as well as Vince but he still couldn’t get the image of Vince locked up down in Bainbridge’s basement out of his head. Of course there were other images swirling around his head that seemed, selfishly, even worse. His mind kept jumping back to when they’d been kids. At that damn party. The last time Bainbridge had decided to dabble in better living through magic. Vince’s legs wrapped around Bainbridge’s waist. Vince running his tongue down Bainbridge’s neck. Bainbridge gripping Vince’s thick strong thighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was untenable. There was no way reality could possibly be as bad as what he was imagining. No way...he’d just have one little shufty, then he’d be off. Well. Back to the van. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah. Just one little look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard scuttled across the garden, darting between the trees and becoming one with the shrubbery. Finally he reached the tree outside of Bainbridge’s window on the second floor. He paused for a moment with his back braced against the tree. He was very much regretting his very loud shirt. Orange was oddly enough not an ideal color for stealth activities. But it couldn’t be helped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard jumped for, and missed, the first branch several times. Feeling like a complete tit, he spat once into each palm then rubbed them together. He couldn’t imagine how it would help but he’d seen it on enough telly shows that it must give some sort of edge. And he had wet naps in the car to clean his hands after. He squatted down low and sprung as high as he could, and he actually managed to catch hold of the branch. He clung to it and with a great deal of whispered cursing managed to haul himself up onto the first branch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that it was easy to climb until he was sitting right outside Bainbridge’s window. Howard crouched down and peered into the room. Masculine. Neat. Smug. He hated it. Almost as much as he hated its sole occupant. Bainbridge was in the room alone removing some disconcertingly manly decorative pillows from his bed. Then he peeled back the duvet. Climbed into the bed. And clapped once to turn off all the lights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Howard was relieved that Bainbridge and Vince were not at current sleeping with each other he still did not feel relieved, as his absence lent credence to the chained in the basement fear. Howard forced himself to calm down. Vince was probably just in another room. A room which he would find even if he had to peek in the window of every room in this godforsaken house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambled down and only sort of fell out of the tree a little at the very end. He hoisted himself up into the next tree to see if Vince was in the next room. And so on. And so on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince knew he had a long night of staring at the ceiling to look forward to and he just might as well get to it, so he laid down on the bed, on top of the covers, and concentrated on keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Not allowing them to drift over to where he’d set the Mixtape after finding it in his pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Mixtape was on his nightstand. There was a tape deck in the study. He refused to let these ideas connect in his mind. Determined to force them to remain as two very interesting, but completely unrelated, fun facts.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But of course his mind did eventually force the connection. That was as far as it went though. No further. Yes. Alright. Maybe he had the ability to listen to the Mixtape, but he didn’t need to listen to it.... Just one last time. Just to see what Howard had put on the B side. Otherwise the curiosity would kill him. Though he could really take it or leave it. It barely mattered. It mattered so little that it actually didn’t matter if he listened to it. So he could just listen to it. To show how little it mattered. Then he’d be done forever. After this he was quitting Howard for good. So it was decided. He’d listen to the tape one last time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> It was very late so he tiptoed past Bainbridge’s room to the study, clutching the Mixtape to his chest. He entered the study with its plush leather furniture. He sank into the large armchair next to the very expensive tape deck. He slipped an understated pair of headphones with a cherry wood inlay over his ears. He curled his legs up under himself and stuck the tape into the deck. He kept darting his eyes toward the door while he waited for the tape to rewind. He did not feel like examining why he did not want Bainbridge to walk in on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The deck clicked. Side B awaited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was feeling a bit panicky. He’d made nearly two laps around the entire house (where, conveniently, no one closed their curtains) without seeing Vince once. He’d nearly made it all the way back to Bainbridge’s room again. Without much hope he glanced again into the window of the study. He was so sure he wouldn’t find anything that he almost missed Vince sitting in a large armchair in toward the back of the room wearing a large pair of headphones Howard, a sound geek from way back, knew cost upwards of twelve hundred euros. The lights were on, casting a reflection. So he could see Vince, but Vince couldn’t see him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was so relieved he nearly lost all strength in his arms and fell out of the tree. But he managed to grip the branch tight. He had to. He couldn’t pry his eyes away. If he had fallen they would have ripped out of their sockets and hung in the air, staring at Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard found himself mentally transposing Vince’s real face over this blank copy. At first he had seemed so different. Almost alien. But now that he knew to look he could find the little bits of Vince peeking through. The way he worried the corner of his mouth with his tongue when he was anxious or annoyed. The way he was physically incapable of sitting in a chair properly. And his eyes. Of course his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was some low level crackle and pop then Howard’s voice came through. He had his disc jockey voice on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is Howard DJ Moon comin’ at ya, like a beam, like a laser. Ow chicka chicka. First up we have number one in the charts and number one in our hearts Somebody to Love by Queen. Featuring hair icon Freddie Mercury. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First there was the clear sweet piano then that heavenly Queen choir. Queen was one of the few places their musical tastes overlapped. Well. Vince insisted it was where their tastes overlapped. In actuality their taste overlapped exactly nil, but Howard would tolerate Queen for Vince’s sake. He tolerated a lot of things for Vince. Cutesy films. Sweets for breakfast. The entire back catalogue of Gary Numan. Though Vince was truly doing him a favor there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The song reached its plaintive crescendo and wound back down. Find me somebody to love. How many times had he listened to this song? Waiting for Howard to swan back into his life. Well, not swan. That implied a level of grace Howard didn’t possess. When Howard emu’d back into his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince giggled a bit to himself and bit his lip. Howard propped himself up in the tree so he could rest both arms on a branch and rest his chin on top of his hands. Looking like a smitten old timey cartoon character. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was so strange to be able to see Vince when no one was around. It felt like mind reading. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This had probably been a mistake. He was supposed to be happy with Bainbridge. Why was he torturing himself with Howard’s deep forest honey voice? It was only going to make it harder. Why was it hard? It didn’t make any sense. He should only love one person. He’d always wanted to give his heart over completely to one person. And he thought he had. He was just so miserably confused. It wasn’t just his heart that was being ripped in two. It was his mind as well. He knew he’d been given a love potion. That it was wrong and horrible and he should hate the person who gave it to him. But he didn’t. And he knew he loved Bainbridge but he just couldn’t help circling Howard. Like a homing pigeon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To keep this electro, pop, jazz power hour going, here is the Human League. Don’t you want me baby?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Howard was here now Vince would be mocking him mercilessly and Howard would be loving every minute of it. He’d say something like “Have you submitted this to the local radio station, are you their new DJ?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Howard would reply that they’d made an offer, wanted to give him the drive time slot, the big show, but he’d turned it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Vince would shoot back “lowballed your offer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes yes,” Howard would say, “low-balled my...cotton pickin’ offer. I told them I could fetch double that in London. They said then go to London. I said I don’t care for the commute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good ol’ London.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this voice you’re doing?” Howard would ask, with his mustache twitching the way it always did when he was trying not to smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imagining their conversation he was smiling so hard it must have hurt because his eyes were welling up for tears. And he was such a girl and it was not on. Such a girl. With his makeup and long hair, always so dolled up. He knew Bainbridge didn’t like it. So Vince didn’t either. That’s what you did when you loved someone. You made sacrifices. Howard never made him sacrifice anything. Howard had never asked him to change. But part of being an adult was compromise. It was time he grew up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He settled back into the chair with a self-satisfied smile, having succeeded in rationalizing himself back into tranquility. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a delicate strum of guitar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, little man. You always said you wanted to hear me sing-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Howard watched, it was like shades dropped over Vince’s eyes. Hiding himself from view again. One moment Vince was smiling. The big goofy grin that took over half his face. With tears running down his face. Then it was like he caught himself. Caught himself feeling something real. And he shut down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince leaned over and pressed stop on the tape player. He ejected the tape, stood up, turned off the light, and walked out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was able to ascertain that he didn’t return to Bainbrige’s room. So he climbed down from the tree. Vince was as safe as he could be under the present circumstances. Now he needed to implement the next phase...as soon as he thought of it. All he had to do wa-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as Howard set foot on the ground a fist connected with his temple, driving him to his knees. Howard looked up. Bainbridge stood over him, fist cocked back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave us alone!” Bainbridge hissed. “He won’t ever be happy with you hanging about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll never be happy with you. He might love you now. But he’ll never forget what you did to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m trying to do right by him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard laughed bitterly. “You wouldn’t know right if it bit you on the nose. You’re a bad person Bainbridge. You don’t deserve someone like Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re perfect are you? You deserve Vince do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I never had to resort to drugging him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had enough time to see Bainbridge’s fist hurtling toward his face but not enough time to do anything about it. Howard flopped on his side in the dirt. There was a ringing in his ear. He tried to push himself back up but his head hurt too much. He felt like he might throw up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge grabbed him by the hair and murmured into his ear, “Come back here again and I’ll send you to see your daddy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard struggled away from him, wanting nothing more than to punch him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say you understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge tightened his grip on Howard’s hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say you understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard glared at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge cupped Howard’s chin in his other hand and forced Howard’s head to nod. He spoke in a nasal mockery of Howard’s voice “Yes I understand.” He abruptly let go of Howard’s head and Howard dropped back into the dirt. “Good! Glad we’re on the same page.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge straightened up with a bit of a flourish. He shook out both legs with vaudeville exaggeration. Then he drew one leg back and kicked Howard in the ribs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard moaned and curled in on himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One more for luck,” Bainbridge said as he kicked Howard again. Then he pressed on Howard’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe, tipping him on his back. “And that’s all folks.” Bainbridge stepped over Howard’s prone body and went back into the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince resisted the urge to pick at his clothes, from the look on his grand-mere’s face they must be wrong in some way and he was desperate to find out what it was. Instead he sat up straight and laced his fingers through Bainbridge’s. At least one hand was occupied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince, Bainbridge, and Vince’s grandparents all sat in the sunroom. The glass had miraculously already been replaced. And so far the birds were staying out of the windows. That morning he’d wondered how Bainbridge had managed it, until he saw Bainbridge’s groundskeeper wandering the garden with a hunting rifle, scanning the skies. This had nearly sent Vince into a panic until Bainbridge promised that the groundskeeper would just use the gun to scare the birds off. He wouldn’t actually aim at the birds. Vince was reassured but he still found himself jumping whenever he heard a gunshot. Something that had surely not escaped his grand-mere’s gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she and his grand-pere had arrived this morning she’d greeted him with a dry kiss on the cheek. His grand-pere had offered his bony hand to shake and Vince had. These were the people he’d spent so much of his life fearing. He didn’t fear his maternal grandparents nearly as much. They’d been a loud and fun group. And Bryan had said that they were not the orchestrators. They were merely industrious and saw an opportunity that they didn’t think through. It was his father’s parents he needed to fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as a child he’d been a bit scared of his grand-mere. In her own way she dressed as impeccably as his father, but she seemed to take no joy in color. Opting instead for severe greys and blacks and whites. Vince and his grand-mere looked a lot alike which made sense because Vince very much took after his father. She was beautiful and imperious and Vince was certain he’d been right to fear her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just because she herself couldn’t dose him with Love Potion No. 9 anymore didn’t mean she didn’t have the means to manipulate things to her own ends. He wanted so badly to be able to trust them. To be happy to see them after so many years apart, but he couldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d skimmed past some surface level discussion at a faster clip than Vince had anticipated. He realized with horror that he was running out of things to talk about. And he knew that if he did run out then his grandmother would take over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve just about got everything planned,” Vince said, grinning desperately, “I fink it’s-” When Vince saw his grandmother’s eyebrow shoot up he cringed internally. His accent was coming through. It always got thicker when he was agitated. Well embarrassing. “I think it is going to be very nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grandmother gave him a pitying look that only just barely covered the calculation underneath. “I’m sure it will be, mon petit oiseau.” His grandmother said. My little bird. When he was small she’d always called him that when she most looked like she would very much like to be the cat that ate the canary. “There are some matters we will discuss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince also had some matters he’d like to discuss, but he rather doubted his items would be added to the agenda. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince was becoming worried that his grandfather had died, because he had not moved or spoken since they sat down. Vince kept darting glances at him, trying to get some sort of read on him, with zero success. Finally he managed to catch the man blinking and that was his single reassurance. Sometimes when Howard needed a moment to think, to get things straight, or when things became too intense, he would disappear into his mind. If he was overwhelmed Vince could almost see Howard turn around and walk into the dark recesses of his mind. Once he’d mentally stowed away the offending piece of information he would return. His grandfather seemed to have retreated into his mind and never came back out. A defense mechanism. A survival instinct. To survive 60 years of Genevieve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “And we will, in due time, but surely you’re not done catching up just yet? I hardly think we’ve covered 30 years in thirty minutes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Grand-mere said. “But there is-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince. I think you had something you wanted to ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince ducked his eyes down to stare at the pretty white tablecloth and the lovely little china cups. He caught himself worrying at the corner of his mouth with his tongue. He stopped and cleared his throat a few times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was, um,” Vince was floundering. Bainbridge stroked the back of Vince’s hand with his thumb. Vince calmed down a bit. “I was wondrin’ if you ever heard from my dad. Or my mum?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grand-mere’s polite smile soured. “Only when he needs money. Which of course we always give him. Even though he would never tell us where they took you. Then, when we cut him off, ungrateful-” She cut herself off with a smile. “I’m sorry darling, he doesn’t seem to have grown up much. No more suited for fatherhood now than he was then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And my mum?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grand-mere sipped her tea and very casually said “We did not keep in touch with your mother’s family.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince fought the disappointment. It had been silly to get his hopes up. That they’d found love. That maybe they’d found some real happiness. But now he, better than anyone, knew there was no escape from Love Potion No. 9.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So the witch had you this entire time. I honestly did not think he was the child-rearing type.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s shoulders tensed at the mention of Bryan. This was what Bryan had spent the remainder of his life trying to prevent. And now it was happening. And he was just letting it. But there was nothing to be done. Bainbridge had called his grandparents before they took the potion. When Vince had explained the kind of people his grandparents were, Bainbridge had apologized, but the damage was done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is the witch now?” Grand-mere asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He died. ‘Bout 16 years ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A twitch at the corner of his grandmother’s lip was all it took for Vince to know that this pleased her. He imagined she was the sort of woman who took great pleasure in outliving her enemies. It was how she’d lived so long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem upset. You mourn your captor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He weren’t-he wasn’t my captor. He was my…” This was the wrong crowd with which to finish that sentence but it still made him feel like a traitor to Bryan. “He was...very good to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grandmother tutted at that and sipped her tea. He couldn’t stand that dismissive look on her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He took care of me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First the Getty’s, then the Hearst’s, now us,” Grand-mere sighed. “Sympathizing with your abductor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until Vince straightened back up in his chair that he realized he’d been slouching. “Actually. He was my dad. And he was a good person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grand-mere narrowed her eyes then twisted her face into a grotesque caricature of sympathy. “I think a kidnapper is not considered a good person, non?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince rested his hands flat on the table. Flexing his fingers against the surface. “He didn’t kidnap me.” Bainbridge placed his hand on Vince’s hand again. Vince absently flicked it off. “My parents gave me to him. He protected me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grandmother leaned forward, her eyes going dark. “Protected you from what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince leaned even further over the table. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten so angry. A fast-rolling dark cloud had swept in and taken him completely by surprise. He felt very loose-limbed in his anger. Like he wasn’t quite sure what his arms were going to do. Twin dots of red stood high on his cheekbones, glowing against his otherwise pale face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He switched to french to make sure he could most directly impress his meaning on her. “To protect me from you. I know what you did to my mother and father. What you planned to do to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt very gratified to see his grandmother shrink back just the tiniest amount.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince found himself standing up quite unexpectedly. Bainbridge tried to pull him back down, but Vince ignored him. He leaned forward to better look his grandmother in the eye. “What you’re still planning to do, non?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grandmother paled. Her mouth dropped open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d expected something like this, but was surprised to get confirmation. Of course his grandparents would still be scheming to find him a more suitable fiance. Bainbridge may have been the richest man in Beron but that was a bit like being the best track on a jazz album. It weren’t saying much. They also could not be thrilled that he was with a man, they were quite old fashioned. So of course they would get rid of Bainbridge then trap Vince and some doomed girl from some rich family by giving them a love potion. Vince had to fight down an insane little giggle.  They were too late on that score.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Imagine how they’d react if he’d introduced them to Howard. The laughter dried up quickly after that thought. Howard kept popping up in his mind at the most inopportune of times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He refocused on his grandmother who still looked stricken to have been found out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever you are thinking, it won’t work. Don’t even try. Because when I figure it out, you’ll never see me again. If I ever have-” he stumbled over his words briefly, thinking back to what Howard had said. “Ch-children. You won’t see them either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grand-mere threw her hands up in supplication. Begging for mercy. Oh no need to beat up on an old woman. But he could see he’d made her angry. He took a savage pleasure in that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge laughed awkwardly. “Everything alright darling? Would you mind switching back to english? For the rest of the class?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince picked up Bainbridge’s hand, kissed it, and sat back down. He had to fight down a grin at the way his grandmother’s mouth tightened like an old drawstring purse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry darling,” Vince said. “I was just explaining a couple things to my grandmum. Few last minute things before the wedding Saturday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. Yes, of course,” Bainbridge said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince took a sip of tea and looked at his grandmother triumphantly over the rim of his teacup. “All of that make sense, grandmaman?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince had to admire her ability to recover. She put on a sickly sweet smile and nodded. “I think we understand each other very well.”  She rose. “We must leave. Your grandfather gets very tired.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see you at the wedding?” Bainbridge asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grand-mere gave him a tight lipped smile. “We must return home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince walked over and gently kissed their cheeks and walked them to the door. After they climbed into the back of their car and their driver pulled away, Bainbridge walked up and settled his arm around Vince’s waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince slowly nodded. He certainly thought so. He’d faced his grandparents and won. At the very least he would make them think twice before they tried any of their schemes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge now had armed guards patrolling the grounds and that put a severe damper on Howard’s plans. He couldn’t get close to the house anymore so he could only see Vince when he happened to get close to one of the windows. Which was happening increasingly rarely as the birds still circled the house, tapping and pecking at the windows. Every once in a while he would see the armed guard shoot one of the birds down and then go toss it in the bin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stood his vigil at all hours. Even though his ribs ached horribly and for the first few days he could barely see through his left eye. But he never wavered. Only stealing away every great once in a while for a few hours. To shower, sleep, and feed Mr. Rabbit. As time went on Howard grew ever fonder of Mr. Rabbit and even kidded himself that they were beginning to understand each other. Vince had said all animals spoke different languages and that they could be learned. In any case he was glad to have the rabbit’s company. He was quite short in the friend department at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was during one of these brief respites at his father’s house that Jean Claude Jacquettie came to see him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was sitting on the couch, stroking Mr. Rabbit’s fur, and murmuring into his long ears. An unbroken monotone monologue, a mixture of reports on Vince’s movements, ideas for how to rescue him, and the ramblings of a madman. He was giving off a distinctly serial killer vibe. As he was sitting in the dark. His eyes just a bit too wide. Which didn’t seem like it would be possible, but was. Thick stubble coating his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a crisp knock at the door. Howard lowered Mr. Rabbit onto the couch and whispered into the rabbit’s ear “Be right back, precious.” While Howard was distracted, Mr. Rabbit hopped away to go hide. He liked Howard fine but the chap was a bit much at times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard answered the door cautiously, only peeking one eye out. And when he saw who it was he tried to slam it shut. Jean Claude stuck his foot in the door, keeping it open. Howard tried to force it, to no avail. Eventually he gave up and let go of the door. Jean Claude walked in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then,” Howard said. “Get on with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get on with what?” Jean Claude asked, genuinely puzzled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get on with whatever Bainbridge asked you to do. I’m a bit busy, got a lot on m’ mind, so if it’s all the same let’s not pussyfoot around. Get. On with it.” With each syllable Howard advanced on Jean Claude until he was looming over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude shook his head. “No. He didn’t send me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help me with what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude gave Howard a knowing look. Vince had told Howard that, of his towny hookups, Jean Claude was the least horrible as a person. Which was a bit like being the best track on an electro album. It wasn’t really saying much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Howard had not been overly thrilled to hear about the other people Vince had been with, he could tell that it was something Vince needed to talk about. That he wasn’t the only one who’d been tremendously lonely all these years. And for Vince, in a lot of ways, it had been worse. Howard was often alone, but he didn’t generally feel all that lonely. He could live inside his head. It was the way he was built. The only person he’d ever had much interest in talking to was Vince. But Vince wasn’t like that. He had to live in the world. He had to live in a world of bright colors and sweets and soft fabrics. Which meant he also needed to live in a world where he could touch. And be touched. Vince didn’t need Howard’s forgiveness or absolution but he had it if he wanted it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Vince said Jean Claude was alright, then Howard believed he was alright. But that didn’t mean he had to make things easy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Under Howard’s impassive stare, Jean Claude thunked his hand into his palm. “It ain’t right. What happened to Vince.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why’d you take part?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t! I mean-I stopped. Alright? I stopped a long time ago.” Jean Claude at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Vince was always nice. And funny. And...he didn’t deserve what he got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know the difference you could have made if you’d spared him any of this kindness, when it actually would have mattered?” Howard snarled. He shot both hands out and grabbed Jean Claude by the lapels. “Ay? Do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O’ course I know.” Jean Claude removed Howard’s hands from his person. “But I’m a coward alright? I’m a coward.” Jean Claude straightened himself up. “Thought you might be able to relate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he could relate. But he wasn’t scared anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need your help. I can figure it out on my own. Thank you, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna need my help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not necessary. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basically, it’s like, you need me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard launched into a slightly louder version of the monologue he’d been pouring into Mr. Rabbit’s ear. About how he had it all figured out and it was “only a matter of time” and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The wedding is Saturday,” Jean Claude burst out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hward rambled on for several more sentences before his brain caught up with his ears. “I beg your pardon?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince and Bainbridge’s wedding….is this Saturday,” Jean Claude said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This. Saturday?” Howard asked weakly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This Saturday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had thought he’d at least have a couple weeks. He’d have thought it would take Vince a full year to plan his wedding. But he had to keep reminding himself that Vince wasn’t in his right mind. So strange to forget something that permeated your every waking moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the fight flew out of Howard like a shot. His knees unhinged and he sat down on the sofa so hard it started to sag, driving his knees toward his chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But that’s…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow. Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well thank you for leaving it to the last bleeding minute,” Howard said, but his voice was too quiet, there was no heat in his voice. Merely going through the motions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here now. And I can help. I can sneak you in. I know Bainbridge has hired guys to watch the church.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard let out a honk that could be most closely described as a laugh, but it wasn’t. There was not an ounce of mirth in it. It was just a noise of complete disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s havin’ it at the church?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bainbridge had to donate enough money to send the entire youth group to rural Alabama to get them to do it. Missionary trip for the church of England. Apparently they handle snakes and the like. He had to hire an actor to play the priest because the-” Jean Calude interrupted himself. “Christ Moon. You didn’t even know where it was? What was your plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, sir, I possess an acute tactical mind. I had developed a plan that was so fluid that it could be adjusted to any change in circumstance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you were gonna wing it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I was going to bleeding wing it,” Howard snapped. “What do you think? That I’d planted a bug in Bainbridge’s study? That I’d acquired a map of the air ducts at the church? My options are a bit limited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Care to hear my plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. To use as a jumping off point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah whatever,” Jean Claude said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He told Howard he was still in the wedding party, even though he and Bainbridge hadn’t been on the best of terms as of late, because he was Bainbridge’s brother in law and his friend options had severely shrank in the aftermath of the execution of his plan. He would “reconcile” with Bainbridge and then he’d be tasked with watching the alley entrance way. Everyone knew it was the worst job because  the butcher shop down the road threw away all of their expired meat in the church’s dumpster, and the people at the church were too polite to confront them, so they just kept letting it happen. So by Saturday the alleyway stank of rotting meat. Bainbridge was vengeful and would certainly give the job to Jean Claude as punishment for being disloyal. So Jean Claude would let Howard in the back door and then Howard could do his whole “I object!” thing and save Vince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard hated to admit it, but the plan was good. Mostly because it was simple. No rube goldberg-esque contraptions, disguises, or parkour needed. There was really no place for him to tweak anything to give it the Howard Moon flair, which was a bit disappointing. But of course he still had the infinitely more difficult job of convincing Vince to come away with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They worked out the details then Jean Claude slipped into the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard forwent another night of watching Bainbridge’s house in favor of figuring out just what in the blue devil he was going to say if he got the chance. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15 and Postlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was his wedding day. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about his wedding day. The jewels and feathers in his hair. The dress. The purple lace veil draped over his face. Howard lifting it and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince closed his eyes. It felt like the first time he’d closed them in hours. It was his wedding day. He had to get up. So he sat up slowly. His eyes instinctively slid over toward where the mirrored vanity sat, but it was still covered with a sheet.  He stood up and walked into the en suite bathroom. He showered quickly rather than having a bath even though there was a gorgeous tub that in another life he never would have been able to resist, then he brushed his teeth, shaved, and combed his hair. He put on the dove gray morning suit. He was ready in less than 45 minutes. He idly thought maybe he should be doing something to look special. But he couldn’t think of a blessed thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d convinced Bainbridge that he wanted to stick to the old tradition of the groom not seeing his...other groom on their wedding day. He needed as much time as possible to build his composure before seeing Bainbridge. He didn’t want Bainbridge seeing anything in his eyes that would cause him pain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stayed in the windowless bedroom until he heard Bainbridge leave with his groomsmen, then he finally came out. He prowled around the large house. Practicing his smile until it was time to go to the church. The birds circled the car as he was driven to the church. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stayed out of sight until most of the guests had entered the church then he crept into the alley to wait for Jean Claude. The wedding was significantly less well attended than John’s funeral had been and Howard supposed he knew why. Bainbridge was leaving this town behind. He’d kept his tendencies a secret from the old timers who worked as his enforcers (only his special goons knew the truth) but now that he was moving onto bigger and better things he saw no reason to hide. His workers, the old timers, were furious they’d been doing a poof’s bidding all these years. Their loyalty had limits. Bainbridge had to rely on his  “friends” for security. And from the way Jean Claude had spoken, he wasn't the only one uncomfortable with what Bainbridge had done. Nor were the others overly thrilled with Bainbridge’s personality transplant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wedding began at 11. Jean Claude would wait as late as he could to let Howard in so that there would be fewer people to dodge as everyone found their seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wait was excruciating. This was his last chance. His very last chance. Each minute gave him millenia in which to write novels in his mind on how everything would surely go wrong. But there was this other sensation in his heart, besides impending doom, one he was still getting used to. This feeling of hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d had such a grim approximation of it all these years. He’d thought his anemic rationalizations for never reaching out to Vince had been maintaining hope. But it hadn’t been hope. It had been cowardice. Because hope made you strong. When you dared to believe things would turn out right, you got disappointed a lot. You got hurt a lot. But when you were an optimist and you were right it was transcendent. Cynics didn’t know what they were missing. Since the highest form of pleasure they could achieve was pleasant surprise. Vince was an optimist and that is what made him so strong. He always thought something good was right around the corner. Howard always thought something terrible was lurking. But right now Howard needed to be strong. And so he hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t slept at all. Mental preparation took time. Not to mention he had to figure out what to wear. In the last couple weeks he had put more thought into his clothes than he had the previous 36 years combined. Howard was really much more of a grope around his closet in the dark type of guy. Now he had to think about style and color and it was all a bit overwhelming. How much matching was too much? How did Vince live like this? Having to make these decisions every day? Though he thought even Vince might struggle with the proper attire to break up a wedding. Then again, Vince could very well have an outfit set aside for just such an occasion. Finally he had settled on the suit he wore to his father’s funeral. In the end it was truly the only option as everything he owned seemed absolutely horrendous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at his watch and groaned when he saw he still had an excruciating 15 minutes to go. Jean Claude had not been kidding about the stink, it was eye watering. He had to breathe through his mouth to keep from gagging but if he thought too much about why he was breathing through his mouth and what particles might be flying into his mouth he would also gag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude opened the door.  “Alright,” he stage whispered. Howard came out from where he was hiding and walked toward the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Claude. Where are you? We’re starting soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean Claude gestured frantically for Howard to hide while he was still out of view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard scrambled to return to his old hiding spot, but someone was coming up the alleyway as well. Someone who could sound the alarm. They hadn’t spotted him yet. He hoisted himself up and threw himself into the dumpster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you still doing out here?” Bainbridge stood in the doorway with Jean Claude. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Jean Claude adopted a casual lean. “Bout ta have a smoke. Care to join me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Howard had landed in the dumpster his hand had gone through the softened flesh of a warm pig carcass. He forced his nose into his shoulder to shield himself from the smell. Nothing could be done for the feel though. He couldn’t risk moving and making a noise to alert Bainbridge to his presence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held his breath, praying Bainbridge would go back inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what? I will join you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was the snick of a lighter being lit, then a deep inhale, Howard saw a jet of smoke rise in the alley. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn birds,” Bainbridge murmured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat alone in a room full of folding chairs, the only room in the church with no windows, waiting for the ceremony to start. He felt sick. He was sure it was just nerves. Or that he was just very excited. Nothing to be concerned about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a crisp knock at the door. Vince shot to his feet-maybe it was-no one. It didn’t matter who it was. He was going to be married soon. He should be hoping it was Bainbridge, coming in to sneak a cheeky snog before the ceremony started. But Bainbridge was the last person he wanted to see. Seeing Bainbridge would make it harder to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince pulled open the door. It was Birdy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did not wait for him to stand back or invite her in, she just barged straight in. Then she turned and eyed his hair distastefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look dreadful dear. Are you sure it’s your wedding day? You could have made a bit of an effort.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy cocked her head. “Nothing smart to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi Birdy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that is just boring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince turned away from her. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy sighed, there was no sport in it if the boy didn’t fire back. The lack of response was making her nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held up the plastic clamshell container she’d brought in. It had a boutineer in it. “Come here love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince walked over to her and she pinned the flowers to his lapel. Delicate purple flowers with wild greenery. They didn’t match the rest of the flowers in the church, cheap red carnations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Went out to the cottage. To pick up some elixir for my special friend. Imagine my surprise when I found that the whole affair had burned down. I picked these while I was there. Thought you might like a little reminder of home today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shuffled his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I don’t need to ask how it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t mean i-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy placed her finger over his lips. “Hush now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince fell silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy tapped her mouth with her finger. “Let me see if I can fix you up a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pinched his cheeks, trying to get some color in them. She straightened the flowers on his lapel one last time, then brushed at his shoulders. “Well. That’s all we can do, under the circumstances.” She kissed him gently on the cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Birdy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me. I think this is all a horrible idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A morning suit is really not your cut. Makes you look hippy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked down, perhaps a bit disappointed. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I always thought you’d end up with that Howard Moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Birdy swept out of the room. Never seeing Vince’s reaction to her words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had not breathed in approximately 500 years. If he didn’t get out of the dumpster he was going to suffocate. Then he was going to be sick. Then he was going to die. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jean Claude and Bainbridge finished their smoke break and went back inside. The door creaked as it swung closed. Once it stopped, Howard leapt out of the dumpster. His hand was coated in rotted pig guts. His clothes were stained sickly pink and fatty yellow. He smelled like the kill floor at a slaughterhouse. Worst of all he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sticky. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He dry heaved a few times, did a few full body heebie jeebie shakes, then he mostly had himself under control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t know what he was going to do if the door was locked. He climbed up the small concrete steps. He found that Jean Claude had wedged a rock into the door frame to keep the door from closing all the way. He was in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Contrasted with the spiced paper smell of the church, the stench wafting off his clothes was even stronger. Someone was going to detect him by smell alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crept down the hallway. Moving quickly but stealthily. He froze when he saw someone coming toward him down the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy Lewis. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He backed away from her. Completely unsure what to do. But then she smiled. “Howard Moon. Am I glad to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped toward her and as he came into full view her smile turned to a look of disgust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you’ve certainly made yourself a tantalizing prospect.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hit a bit of trouble,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well come on. Let’s get you sorted.” Birdy moved back down the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re going to win Vince back you can’t do it looking like Stig of the Dump can ya? So let’s go. I know where they store the donation items.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy picked out the least horrid clothes in the donation box while Howard cleaned his hands and face as best he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She handed him some tie-dye sweatpants that said Peace and Love across the ass, the one pair of trousers in the entire box that would fit him, and a graphic t-shirt that said “World’s Best Grandmum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really. This was the best you could find?” Howard asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have no lip from you,” Birdy said. “I’m not the one who decided to have a layabout in a dumpster.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy stuck her head out the door, to check if the coast was clear. Things looked alright for the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tugged at the hem of the t-shirt. It was huge on him, which really made him wonder at the size of the world’s greatest grandmum,  who’d donated the shirt. “I look ridiculous. He’s not going to want me, looking like this.” His confidence was shattered. His chances had been slim when he was at 100%. When he looked his best and felt his best. He was fighting magic for goodness sake. But now he was nowhere close. He didn’t have a chance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy turned back around.  “I’m sorry. Do you think that boy is in love with you because of your fashion sense?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I think my-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. You’re a disaster. But he does love ya. It’s plain as day. And whatever this is. Whatever he’s trying to do. It’s killing him. You go put a stop to it. Do we understand each other?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Birdy smiled at him. “I always liked you two together. As you’ll recall it was me who set you two up in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not-” Howard did not have time to argue with her because the music was starting. It was time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stood in front of the double doors that led into the sanctuary. He nodded at the two men standing at the doors and they pulled them open. He entered the sanctuary. The first time he’d ever set foot in the church. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge stood up at the front with a wide bemused smile on his face. Next to him was Jean Claude looking quite a lot less enthused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince walked down the aisle. Not many people had come.His grandparents were missing. Only Birdy Lewis seemed to have come for him. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting. Who he’d been expecting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few birds tapped at the stained glass windows. He knew what they were trying to tell him now. What they were trying to say. But he did not listen. It was too late now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile felt very genuine. It was resting easy on his face. And everyone was allowed to cry on their wedding day. Soon he and Bainbridge would be married and then he wouldn’t be confused anymore. He would be settled. It would be a relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held no bouquet. Not even the ugly cheap red things dotting the pews and standing in dour clumps by the doors. There was no dress. No veil. They were trapped in on all sides and worst of all from above in the stuffy church where he’d never been welcome. And he knew he’d chosen these things. That all of this had been his decision, that it was too late to take it back, to change his mind, to break Bainbridge’s heart and run away. He knew this, but it didn’t stop him from glancing back once. Just once. Because he thought he’d heard the door rattle. That he’d heard someone’s voice on the other side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard listened at the door. Waiting for the part of the ceremony where he could voice his objection. He was terrified he was going to miss it. He had the same issue at airports. He could never read his book or listen to his music at the airport for fear he would miss his flight boarding. And this was a damn site more important. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The priest really needed to learn to enunciate. He was a complete mushmouth. Howard flattened his ear to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here...today...matrimony,” the priest said...he thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard pressed his ear even harder to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...object-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I object!” Howard shouted as he burst through the double doors. “I object!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone turned back to see Howard standing in the aisle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moon?” Bainbridge barked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard!” Vince shouted, a shocked grin on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The priest loudly cleared his throat. “If no one objects…” He gave Howard a severe look. “I would like to begin with a reading from Psalms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would seem he was a bit early.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The priest flipped through the large bible.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard tried several times to get the priest’s attention. The priest resolutely ignored him. Howard glanced over and saw Vince fighting very hard not to look disappointed. Howard would be thrilled to never see that expression on Vince’s face again. He’d seen it too many times already. A look that said Vince was hurt, but didn’t blame Howard, even if it was Howard who’d done it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard covered his eyes with his hand, to shield himself, while he spoke. “Might want to choose different wording father, just, you know, for next time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The priest dropped his posh british accent. “Yeah whatever pal. Can I get on with the frickin’ ceremony?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of Howard just wanted to sit down. Or slink out. But he’d waited long enough. Too long in fact. It was time to be rude. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you skip ahead a little bit, hm?” Howard said, drawing himself up to his full height. For once not apologizing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The “priest” looked to Bainbridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, no. You don’t look at him. You look at me. Skip. Ahead,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The priest looked nervous. “I can’t remember how it goes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You made me all nervous. I forgot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard didn’t dare glance over at Vince to see how all this was landing. He’d chosen a course and now he just had to see it through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, it,” Howard said, “You’ve seen it in a million movies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their words tripped all over each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t” “Yes, you can.” “I’m serious. I don’t know the-” “So help me God say those words or I’ll-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah. Now I kinda remember them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go ahead then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” the “priest” glanced at Howard nervously, “If anyone has a reason that these two should not be wed, uh-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard took a deep steadying breath then fed the “priest” the rest of his lines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speak now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speak now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or forever hold your peace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or forever hold your peace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I object!” Howard shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I object!” The priest repeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No you don’t-” Howard threw his hands up in frustration. “Forget it.”  He walked the rest of the way up the aisle. Vince was waiting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He should be horrified. He should be embarrassed. Howard had crashed his wedding. Was about to come to blows with the priest. This was an absolute disaster. All of this was true, but it was also true that Vince was smiling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And worse, Bainbridge had noticed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge surged forward, intent on stopping Howard from advancing any further. “Now see here-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In one smooth motion Howard swung a wide arcing punch that landed right on Bainbridge’s chin. Or, as Bryan had called it, the knockout button. Bainbridge dropped so fast it almost seemed unrealistic. Sort of like how gunfire is quieter in real life than it is in the movies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard!” Vince screamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard had just punched out his fiance. He should be furious. He was furious. Yes. Furious is what he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Vince said, and if he sounded a little more breathy then that was just a coincidence. He was just dehydrated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I object,” Howard said. “I object to this union. For a thousand reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like an inexperienced actor, in a badly directed play, Vince said “You can’t do this. You can’t just show up and spoil my wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one was convinced by the performance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard stepped over Bainbridge and joined Vince at the altar. He held out his hands for Vince to take. Vince folded his arms instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard awkwardly lowered his hands to his sides. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince’s head and his heart were in battle. His mind was pushing itself harder and harder, finding rationalization after rationalization. Grinding gears. Belching out clouds of black foul smelling smoke. Anything could be taken in it’s broken and twisted original form and molded into something pretty and fake. But the gears were stripping out. Because there was simply too much. His mind was running 24/7 cooking up justifications and excuses and it was wearing out. Wearing down. Because the heart wants what the heart wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d practiced the speech. Well, he would have practiced if he’d gotten any further than the first sentence. He’d spent hours waffling back and forth on the correct phrasing. Then he’d waffled back and forth over whether it was overwrought. Then, determining it was overwrought, he’d gone back to the 8th draft where he’d peaked, creatively speaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was as far as he had gotten. For a moment his mind went white with panic but he fought it back down. He may not have gotten very far in his father’s kitchen, but he knew just what to say now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are my favorite person in the entire world.” He took a deep breath. So far so good. “Any magic I have in my life. Any strength I’ve ever had, comes from you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard pulled his eyes up off the floor. He locked eyes with Vince. And found it was quite easy to maintain eye contact when it was with the love of your life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “You inspire me and see me and drive me absolutely mad. You make everything beautiful. I don’t know how.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s eyes were getting red and his voice was getting thick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The  world was so ugly before I met you. And you make it wonderful. The way you see things. And how you can make me see it too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince wiped his eyes with the cuff of his shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you because you kissed me the day you met me. You instantly made everything I was, everything I am, okay. Because loving you could never be wrong. I’ve doubted every thought that’s ever gone through my head. Convinced it had to be wrong because it came from me. But I never once doubted my feelings for you. I love you because you are fearless. And funny. And so so beautiful. Vince. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I just-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s eyes widened. He stuttered to a stop. He tried to continue but seemed to have run out of words. He looked scared. So scared that he hadn’t done enough. That he’d tried so hard and still came up short.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love Potion No. 9 could do anything to make a match. It could give people gifts or, more often than not, take them away. It could ruin lives. Break up families. Erase people’s identities. It could convince someone that the best they could hope for was love that was twisted and damaged. That if they sacrificed every bit of themselves that they would finally be loved. That you get what you get and you don’t get upset. Yes, the potion wormed into the mind of anyone unlucky enough to drink it. But only the mind. Love Potion No. 9 held no dominion in the heart. And that was why it was powerless against true love. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Vince had true love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Vince looked at Howard,  all of the pain and confusion stopped. His overworked brain gratefully ground to a halt. All the excuses keeping the fantasy of his love for Bainbridge afloat crashed down like they were made of lead. Obvious in their falseness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at Howard in something akin to awe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which seemed to only serve to make Howard more nervous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt it now. With every fiber of his being. His ramshackle heart belonged to Howard. It had since the moment he’d seen that tall gawky boy with the ugly shirt and the unstylish trousers trying to escape a never ending conversation with Birdy Lewis. Through monumental force of will he had restrained himself for nearly an entire hour from their first meeting. But when Howard had started scattin’ with his eyes closed, all of Vince’s strength, all of his protestations, had disappeared. And he had kissed him. And it had been the best impulse of his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you wanted to experience the delirium of true happiness then you opened yourself up to horrible pain. Because it could be taken away. But sometimes...sometimes you got it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there would be no settling. There would be no “you get what you get and you don’t get upset.” He didn’t want Bainbridge’s love. Or his grandparents’. He didn’t want Jean Claude’s love or Joey or Missy or any of the rest. It was no love at all. All he wanted. All he needed. All he </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Was Howard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love pushed him forward and the potion pulled him back. The final battle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard appeared to be finding his footing again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just love you so mu-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince leaned forward and cut Howard off with a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spell was broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s hands wavered at his sides for a moment unsure what to do. Shocked. The underdog always wants it the most and is always the most surprised when they get it. But the moment didn’t last long. Because the proof was both undeniable and ongoing. He’d done it. Vince was Vince again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised his hands to cup Vince’s face.  Kissing him harder, terrified of letting him go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally they pulled apart, but only slightly. Howard still had his hands on Vince’s face. They pressed their foreheads together, their eyes closed. Just breathing each other in. Then Howard pulled Vince into a rough hug, clumsy due to overzealousness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince screwed his fists into the back of the world’s greatest grandmum shirt. He hugged Howard so hard that Howard’s ribs hurt. It also made it a bit difficult to move his arms, but he’d managed the “safe and loved” hug under tougher circumstances than these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you so much little man,” he whispered into Vince’s hair. “I missed you so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince did not seem quite ready to speak yet, so Howard kept up a steady stream of love and affirmation as he pointedly ignored the stares of the wedding guests, who had simply sat and watched the entire scene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally their stares grew too heavy, so Howard leveled a glare at them. “Sod off,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all rose and sidled out of the sanctuary, even Bainbridge’s goons. Once they were all gone, Howard could focus on Vince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Vince loosened his grip on Howard. He swiped at his eyes and seemed almost surprised not to find any flecks of mascara or smears of eyeliner there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave Howard a huge smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you Howard, so much,” Then his sweet smile turned into a cheeky grin,  “but what you wearin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? That’s the first thing you’re going to say? Make fun of my clothes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince adopted a defensive pose. Hands on his hips. “It weren’t first. I did say I love you first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I love you but….” Howard said; he was having trouble fighting the lupine grin off his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you look like you bought your clothes at a Florida airport! What am I just ‘sposed to not say anythin’?” Vince said with mock outrage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. When I rescue you from a love spell you don’t get to say anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh it’s just like you to throw that in my face. Didn’t even take ya thirty seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here you,” Howard said gruffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gladly,” Vince sneered. And they drew each other into a significantly less church friendly kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally they broke apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But seriously Howard,” Vince said, “I’m gone like 2 weeks and you forget everything I’ve ever taught you about fashion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Howard grunted then they kissed again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They broke apart when they heard a loud groaning. They looked up the aisle toward the source of the noise. Bainbridge was waking up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a snarl Howard lunged forward, ready to pummel Bainbridge, preferably into a bloody pulp but then Vince grabbed his arm and held him back. “Wait Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vince, you don’t have to-let me do this for you,” Howard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You done enough. Jus’ gimme a minute, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed Howard on the jaw, and Howard kissed him on the forehead, which left him blushing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bainbridge sat up. He looked around. Confused. “Vince? What’s going on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince sat down beside Bainbridge. He was not scared. Bainbridge no longer posed a threat to him. “I’m not marrying you, Bainbridge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why? We love each other. I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You love me. I don’t love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you do. I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince cut Bainbridge off. “You used the potion. But you didn’t understand how it works.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince looked over at Howard. “You didn’t know it would change you. And you didn’t know it could be broken. By kissing your true love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the spell isn’t broken. I still-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It only worked for me. ‘Fraid you’ll have to find your own true love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love Potion No. 9. Cruel to the last. You could only free yourself from it. No two for one deals. When you escaped, you always left someone behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince shrugged. “Yeah. But I can do a lot better.” He stood up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince walked away from Bainbridge. Then he took Howard’s hand. Howard brought Vince’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his fingertips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go Howard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> They walked out of the church. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince never saw Bainbridge again, though he did hear about him from time to time. He’d turned himself in for statutory rape and a long litany of other offenses. And was serving jail time. He’d sent Vince a letter. About how he was trying to atone. And hoped Vince might someday forgive him. Vince read it once and threw it away. No letters followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince stood on the front steps of the church briefly and Howard had to shuffle backwards or otherwise be caught in a maelstrom of feathers as all the birds that had been circling the church swooped down and swirled around Vince, tweeting and singing. Vince stood in the eye of the storm, gently whistling his thanks in the language of the birds. Giving them his love. Saying his goodbyes. One by one the birds flitted upwards and flew away, then Howard and Vince continued on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they left the church, Howard and Vince broke into Bainbridge’s house to rescue Vince’s only belongings in the world, the clothes he’d been wearing the day Bainbridge dosed him and the Mixtape. Then they loaded into Howard’s van and drove away from the village of Beron. Vince had his nose pressed to the window the entire time, enjoying his first change of scenery in over 30 years, Mr. Rabbit, who he’d covered with kisses, sat in his lap the entire time. Finally free. He kept up a stream of excited chatter as they drove, talking about all the places he wanted to go now that he could finally leave the village. And they’d have to watch out for his grandparents, now that they’d be able to find him, but if they ever tried anythin’ then Howard would be right there to kiss it all better. And wasn’t it genius and how did Howard feel about Paris? Or maybe Denmark?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or good ol London?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this voice you’re doing?” Howard asked. “Why do you suddenly sound like a cockney guttersnipe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my natural accent!” Vince said, his voice going high with outrage. “I’m a cockney bitch. A ragamuffin from the streets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a french duke. You’re literally a french duke.” Howard found it difficult to focus on the road, his eyes kept darting over to Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please. A comte. And that’s my grandad. Not me. I’m a witch...so what you say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About London!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“London sounds wonderful. But first, um, I thought we might go to Leeds. Thought you might like to meet my mother.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Vince’s delight, the tips of Howard’s ears were positively glowing pink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get to meet Mama Moon?” Vince asked excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you promise to never call her that again. She’d like it too much,” Howard said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Before we do that, we gotta make a stop first. I am not meeting your mum like this,” he gestured at his clothes, his lack of makeup, and worst of all, his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t think we can wait months for it to grow back out Vince. So you may have to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jus’ take me to Tescos Howard. I can take it from there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stopped at a Tescos just outside of Leeds. Vince strolled up and down the aisles. Gathering various supplies. Spices. Produce. A large mixing bowl. Several bottles of a mysterious brackish liquid from the “Wyrd” aisle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard commented he had never seen this aisle before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Usually it’s only witches who can see it,” Vince explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince also purchased a box of raven black hair dye, an eyeliner pencil, some lippy,  and a large bag of pick-n-mix. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still getting used to the idea that all of his things were gone. At least he’d have a few things that were his. At least he’d look like himself again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he’d be ready for everything that came next. Couldn’t wait for it, in fact. Everything would be sparkly, pink, and genius. As long as he had Howard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Howard paid for all their purchases they returned to the van. Where Vince mixed together his ingredients to make a poor man’s batch of Miracle Grow, his hair growing potion. He slathered the concoction all over his hair and within minutes his hair was the perfect length. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard suggested that all of this might be more easily accomplished at his mum’s house, but Vince wouldn’ hear of it. “I gotta make a good first impression.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard saw it was more than that. Vince couldn’t stand looking the way he did for a moment longer. He had to put himself to rights. So Howard kept his mouth shut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince trimmed his hair with the scissors Howard always kept ready for emergencies, he was a school teacher afterall. Then he had Howard help him apply the dye to his hair. Once the correct amount of time had passed Vince reentered the Tescos to use their sink. While he rinsed out his hair, Howard called his mum on the payphone out front. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He asked her if they could come and visit and she said “Oh yes, of course. I can’t wait to meet Vince. After all this time. It certainly took you long enough Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mum was getting on in years, but she never missed a trick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a bit of a ruckus at the front of the store. Then Vince stomped out of Tescos. Soaking wet. Rivulets of black water staining his grey morning suit. A Tescos employee, Howard imagined it was a manager, followed Vince out, shouting and waving his hands about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince gave him the V then stomped back toward the van. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk soon mum, love you, bye,” Howard said and hung up the phone. He jogged up beside Vince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa there. Hey. What’s the problem, little man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They got mad, cos I stained the sink purple, but it ain’t even stained. And even if I ‘ad Howard, it woulda been a major improvement.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sod em yeah? Sod em all,” Howard said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Howard drove, Vince climbed into the back of the van to change out of the horrible morning suit and into his old clothes they rescued from Bainbridge’s house. Howard’s eye kept wandering to the rearview mirror where he could see flashes of pale skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vince caught him looking and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Avert your eyes you pervert,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he climbed back into the front and nestled into Howard’s side. He pulled out the Mixtape and stuck it in the van’s tape player.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s voice came over the speakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, little man. You always said you wanted to hear me sing. So here goes nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s cheeks burned. It was one thing to sing for the love of your life. But to hear one’s self singing for the love of his life was quite embarrassing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were a few strums from his guitar. Then Howard on the tape started to sing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whenever it's early twilight</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I watch 'til a star breaks through</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps sensing Howard’s embarrassment, Vince said, “It’s beautiful Howard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, it's not a star I see</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's always you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard threw caution to the wind and abandoned ten and two procedure to remove one of his hands from the steering wheel. He curled his arm around Vince’s shoulders. Bringing him closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whenever I roam through roses</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And lately I often do</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, it's not a rose I touch</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's always you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard could hear Vince softly humming along to the song. He seemed to know the tune very well. Howard started to hum along as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If a breeze caresses me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's really you strolling by</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I hear a melody</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's merely the way you sigh</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Howard began to sing along. His deep voice rumbling and sending vibrations into Vince’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wherever you are, you're near me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You dare me to be untrue</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, each time I fall in love</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's always you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s always you, little man,” Howard murmured into Vince’s hair as he kissed the crown of his head. “Always you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Postlude</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>ONCE UPON A TIME...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a merry little shop on a clean bright corner in London. The shop was called Beauté de Noir and it specialized in high end magical beauty products. Above the shop was a little flat where the proprietor of the shop and his husband lived. They were very happy there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day the bell above the door tinkled. The proprietor, named Vince, a witch so they said, was not manning the counter. He had been struck by the hair muse and absolutely had to put blue streaks in his hair that very moment. So his husband, a jazz bandleader at the local performing arts school, had been tasked with watching the shop and “not scarin’ off all the customers, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music teacher, Howard, was helping a customer when he saw two people walk in, a man and a woman. They both looked to be in their 60’s. The man had large blue eyes, high cheekbones, and hair like a grey lion’s mane, the woman had a muted crooked smile, and frizzy brownish blondish hair. The man was beautifully dressed in a cobalt blue suit. The woman appeared to have a mouse living in her hair. The man wore a wedding ring. The woman did not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man walked to the counter while the woman got distracted by Mr. Rabbit, sitting on his comfy platform by the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard wrapped up the customer’s purchases. Then he caught sight of the woman. She had picked Mr. Rabbit up off his pedestal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m sorry, that rabbit is on the verge of death, or he might possibly be immortal, so please, he’s very fragile...or indestructible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman gave Mr. Rabbit a small hug, whispered something in his long ear, then set him down. She wore a soft smile.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the man spoke, he had a french accent. “Excuse me. I understand this is Vince Vio-Vince Noir’s shop? Is he here? We hoped to speak with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d only needed to be walloped over the head with it, but Howard had finally put together who these people were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard heard Vince’s voice coming down the stairs from their flat above the shop, hopefully with the jar of JAM jam he was supposed to be bringing down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Howard! I need you to be honest. Does my new hair look stunningly beautiful or merely gorgeous?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Vince reached the bottom of the stairs Howard knew the jar of JAM jam clutched in Vince’s hands was history. Frampton would not be well pleased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a loud smash as yes, there went the jar, loose from Vince’s numb fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard turned around just to see that smile. Howard’s favorite smile. That big crazy sunshine smile. And he was not disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All was well and all was well and all was very well indeed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The End</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
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